The White Wave
by WhiteWave14
Summary: When a devastating curse wipes out most of the British Wizarding community, the Unspeakables come up with a solution: Harry is to be sent back in time to infiltrate the Death Eaters, find the creator of the White Wave and prevent it from ever existing. But Harry soon becomes tangled in a complicated web of lies, mixed loyalties and conniving Dark Lords. HPLV slash, Nondark Harry
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer : I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Violence, language, sexual references

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It was a cold December night. One of those winter nights when the every noise was strangely muted by the rapid fall of snowflakes and when the lights of the lampposts bathed the streets in a serene golden hue.

For a minute, everything stood still. The ground was an alien landscape of immaculate mounds and valleys of diamond powder.

Then, the sounds of breathing expelled in harsh pants broke the silence and the untouched beauty of the scene was carelessly defiled by the panicked footsteps of a man running for his freedom, for his life.

Nature got its revenge, for a moment, when the man slipped on a hidden patch of ice and fell down with a grunt of pain. He picked himself up and ran anew, stumbling and throwing fearful glances over his shoulder where he could see the outline of his pursuer through the snowfall.

He swore for the thousandth time that night, damning his luck. Nobody would have dared to fly on a broom during a blizzard. No one sensible, that is, and it was just his luck that his pursuer was the most reckless of all Aurors in the Ministry. Harry bloody Potter, Saviour extraordinaire and notorious genius on a broom, was precisely the type to disregard any caution and chase him until he was caught, at all costs.

The fugitive ran as fast as he could, throwing Warming charms ahead to melt the snow and ice and avoid another slip. His attention was so focused on the ground that he didn't see the signs indicating the change of a zone. He leapt over a low barrier with the same single-minded concentration and it's only when he suddenly felt oppressive wards weighting down on him that he lifted his head and looked around.

He had entered a Muggle zone. He shivered in disgust and threw distrustful glances around, as if he expected guards to materialise from behind a snow-covered vehicle or from around a street corner. Reassured by the lack of activity, he turned to his pursuer with a new confidence. Now considerably closer, Potter hovered uncertainly on the other side of the barrier. He looked quite ridiculous like that, suspended in the air, his face mostly covered with a thick scarf and a large woollen hat that had probably been gifts from the Weasley family.

Oh yes, he knew all about the "Saviour" and his pathetic life. Everyone knew everything, from the disastrous marriage, to the castrating hex that a former Death Eater had sent him during a mission. The British Wizarding world had cried for the misfortune of their beloved hero while what remained of the Dark sect had hollered in delighted laughter. The irony had been too sweet not to. "Potter the impotent," he had been called since then by the ones who wanted to taunt him.

He grinned in remembrance and theatrically bowed at his enemy. He felt strangely safe here, protected by the Segregation Law that prevented anyone from casting Magic in the zone. Theoretically, he had violated the decrees by entering it, but surely, even those scums had better to do on a Solstice night than to monitor the borders obsessively. One small fry on the radar probably didn't warrant an alert to the national guard, he reckoned.

Potter, however, if he dared break the law, would make the sirens bellow the minute he toed the separation line. With a certified Auror badge and his amount of magical powers, he would trigger an alarm likely to send all the Muggles running in disarray and threatening them of breaking off their shaky peace treaty.

So, yes, he was feeling quite bold now. Potter was watching him with a frown, glancing periodically at the barrier and at the signs, obviously thinking over what he could do to reach him and capture him while avoiding setting off the Muggles.

He wondered what the Auror was going to do. _Better provoke him to prevent him from working out some sort of solution, _he thought with another grin.

_Let's see how you'll like that, Potter. _

.

Harry Potter looked at the Dark wizard making obscene gestures at him with his hand. It was absurd that the wards and barriers had let his target pass, but prevented him from giving him chase. It wasn't as if the Muggle zones wanted to become refuges for the criminals of their world, after all. It must have been some sort of glitch, a temporary weakness that allowed this one to slip in.

Harry clenched his jaw in frustration. He was blocked out and he desperately needed to catch the other wizard. Innocents were dying and that...mongrel was one step short from rubbing one out in front of him. He knew what Davies was trying to do. To most Dark wizards and holders of the old traditions, losing the ability to procreate was the ultimate humiliation, especially if one hadn't managed to produce an heir beforehand. But, as frustrating and irritating those insults were, they didn't affect him anymore. He had come to terms with the consequences of the hex and had found a way to make the most of it by diverting his energies into his orphanage project. It was still far from being ready and in the current conditions, it might never be realised, but Harry hoped to have the establishment running within a year or two, or as soon as this curse problem was settled, at least.

_Really,_ Harry thought as he lowered to the ground and got off his broom,_ the immaturity of certain wizards never ceases to amaze me._

Davies, who was, at 34, barely three years younger than him, was now shaking his ass tauntingly at him. He had even stopped looking at him completely, as if he was convinced that Harry would remain there and watch the Pureblood make a spectacle of himself as long as the other continued.

In normal circumstances, he might have. He could have found some humour in the situation. Now, however, he wanted answers. It might have been too late for Hermione, but Hugo and Rose were still fighting for their lives in the hospital and what that joke of a wizard could tell him might just save them.

Harry took a steadying breath and looked cautiously at the blaring signs surrounding the entrance gate to the Muggle zone one last time. What he was about to do wasn't strictly illegal, but it was skirting around the borders of it.

He had a reckless shrug and a small smile, then. Since when did he let the law stop him from doing the necessary? The Muggles would understand that his hand was forced.

Harry changed his grip on his wand, discreetly, even if Davis still wasn't paying him any attention. He cast a Sticking charm on the ground and pointed his wand at the other.

"_Accio_, Robert Davies," he cast.

The Pureblood was heavier than him, so the Summoning charm was not supposed to work in this situation. However, since he was stuck on the ground, the balance of the forces was between the combination of his weight and the strength of the charm, and the weight of the other.

With a surprised shout, Davies was abruptly yanked from his position and propelled in Harry's direction. Harry unstuck himself and moved aside, letting the Pureblood fly past him and collapse on the ground a meter further, under the momentum of the spell. He cast an over-powered _Expelliarmus_ on the prone form and looked on in satisfaction as a wand, various blades and a few Potions floated to him. He directed them neatly into his evidence pouch and sent an _Incarcerous_ at Davies.

The Pureblood shouted in distress and squirmed on the ground pathetically. Harry allowed himself a satisfied smile, more to distress the other than to express any joy he might have gotten from defeating such an easy enemy.

He wanted to mock him as a payback for the fun the other had at his expense earlier, but a quick glance above his shoulder told him that Muggles had felt the magical intrusion and would come to investigate. Knowing them, they would probably insist on taking custody of the prisoner once they learnt that he had trespassed in their zone. Harry needed the answers Davies could provide, and he didn't want to wait until he got permission to interrogate him in a Muggle jail. He also couldn't Apparate him away, because that would be a failure to comply with the Muggle authorities on their jurisdiction and would cause all sorts of mess.

That left him with very little time.

Harry stepped over the balloted prisoner and sat on him. That shut him up, at least.

He let his magical aura grow thicker and more imposing. Purebloods only respected two things: family legacies and power, and Harry had the latter, even if he didn't like to make a show of it.

He hissed lowly, as if he would slip into Parseltongue, because it never failed to agitate the darker lot.

Davies started squirming again, this time in fear and not just in discomfort.

"Tell me everything you know about the White Wave," he ordered firmly.

Davies froze for a second, before a smug smile spread on his face.

"That's all you want to know? I could have told you that even without our friendly little chase. We are all quite proud of it, after all," he said.

Harry gripped the collar of the Pureblood's robes and tightened them around his throat.

"I'm not interested in hearing you sprout your eugenic agenda. What is the counter-curse?" he urged the other.

Davies hesitated a moment, so Harry tightened his chokehold warningly. Davies spluttered and wheezed out:

"Come on! Don't strangle the life out me when I can't answer a question that doesn't have an answer!"

Harry suddenly felt the cold air seep in his clothes and cut to his bones as dread settled in his stomach.

Not one to give up so easily, he shook the other one around a bit to loosen his tongue.

"What do you mean, no counter-curse? As we speak, there are hundreds of Muggleborns and Half-Bloods dying in St. Mungo's and even more out there without proper care. Stop lying and tell me the counter-curse!" he shouted in agitation.

Behind him, he could hear the Muggles gathering at the border of their zones. It wouldn't be long before they intervened, Harry knew. He didn't have time to dally longer.

"Who knows? Who created the curse? They must know a counter," he pressed.

Davies frowned and looked behind Harry, at the Muggles, before he looked back at him.

"I'll tell you if you bring me to the Ministry of Magic and not to the Muggles. I prefer dying among my peers than ending in their cells, with their filthy hands crawling all over me," he answered quickly.

Harry shook his head.

"That's out of my hands. Except for if I can convince them that you know important information about the White Wave. So far, you haven't really told me anything I didn't know," he commented.

He felt the Muggles shuffle into ranks and knew an officer had probably arrived. He mentally urged Davies on. Miraculously, the criminal spoke up at last.

"We don't know who create the curse. It's supposed to be someone in the Dark Lord ranks, or at least a sympathiser from the first Wizarding War. We think the curse took so long to get out there because the creator was imprisoned, but maybe he was killed, and it took a while for someone to find the research they did. I don't think whoever did it is still alive today, though; because they'd have taken credit for the great purge it brought. It showed the world that we were right, that the Mudbloods were really contaminating our Magic, tainting it with their filth..."

"Shut up! I told you I don't want to hear you sprouting your baseless theories. I'm just interested in how to solve this problem," interrupted Harry.

"Oh, oh, oh!" laughed Davies, looking much too smug for someone lying on the frozen ground. "I think you're just getting nervous because you're just a Halfblood and it's just a matter of time before you're infected too."

Harry sighed in frustration and tore off his sweaty hat to bury his hands in his hair for a moment, trying to think of what he could do. It had taken him way too long to catch Davies, and now the Pureblood didn't seem to have anything satisfying to tell him about the curse. Another dead-end, then. The only interesting thing that came out of it was the theory on its origin, but, as the other said, the creator was probably long dead, like most, if not all the old Death Eaters. They had already interrogated all the ones under Ministry custody and the ones with knows locations, like the Malfoys, but it still wasn't clear how that curse was created and why it surfaced now, twenty years after Voldemort's fall, of all times.

"Auror," called a gruff voice from behind him. "He penetrated in our zone, so he's ours. I don't care that you did your mumbo jumbo to catch him and bring him back to your side, he's still going to come with us."

Harry barely refrained from sighing. He got up from the bound Pureblood and faced the Muggle soldiers.

"He is implicated in one of our investigations. He might have vital information concerning an epidemic in the Wizarding World. It's imperative that I am given the time to interrogate him properly," he explained calmly in a voice that he hoped was firm and authoritative. Displays of magical power left Muggles completely indifferent and, even if they were given a summary of the events of the last war, most did not care much about Harry or his accomplishments. Usually, it was one of the only things he liked in interacting with Muggles. Now that he was judged as a relatively young, and therefore probably low-ranked Auror, for their standards, he would have liked to be able to drop a few names and get to keep his prisoner. But being Harry Potter had always meant to have the disadvantages that went with his fame without gaining anything to compensate somewhat for the trouble. Merlin forbid it was actually useful sometimes.

He checked the Muggle officer's rank. According to his uniform, he was a Colonel. He must have tripped the border alarms severely if such a high-ranking officer showed up to check out the threat.

"Auror, the rules are simple. The trespasser is coming with us and he will be interrogated by us. And keep your magic stick where we can see it. I don't want to receive another vegetable-brained captive because you lot like to keep your little secrets. Is that clear?" asked the Colonel.

By experience, Harry knew that the higher the rank, the less likely they'd negotiate with him. However, he wasn't done interrogating Davies. He withheld a sigh at the thought of what he'd need to do to get his information. Now, that wasn't legal in the slightest, but the skill wasn't well-known enough for anyone to recognise what he was doing. In fact, in this day and age, he was practically the only one in Britain who knew of it, let alone who could use it. He would try his luck at it, but first, placate the Muggle.

"Of course, Colonel. I was hoping we could make an exception considering the circumstances, but I can see that it won't be possible. Let me just ask him a small question in front of you, just in case he knows anything that could help us. You know, the White Wave so far has only touched Magicals, but who knows if it won't start spreading to Muggle afterwards," he pointed out to make them worried. Hopefully, it would steer the Muggle research in the direction of finding a cure for it too if they were worried enough.

The Colonel frowned distrustfully at him, but gave a sharp nod in the direction of the captive. Harry took it as an agreement and turned back to Davies.

He looked the latter in the eye and prepared mentally for his spell.

"What would it take to stop the White Wave from spreading further?" he asked in a loud, firm voice before he whispered in a barely audible voice:

_"Legilimens."_

Davies' eyes widened suddenly in fright, but it was too late, Harry was already in his mind, searching for what his question had evoked in his prisoner.

The onslaught of memories was chaotic, but they mostly centered around a younger Davies who listened captivatingly to his father, Roger Davies, talk with associates during the Second Wizarding War.

Snippets of conversations reached Harry's mind:

"The Mudblood have a different Magic. They can't be allowed to pollute ours..." argued a woman he never saw as her face flashed in his mind for a moment.

"Stop being so sensitive. The White Wave is a purge. There is no choice. Pure Magic won't survive if we don't act. It's our responsibility, as holders of the old..." the face of the speaker was blurry, as if caught in a whirlwind and Harry couldn't hear the rest of the sentence before he was caught in the next flash of memory.

"But she's a Half-Blood! She will die!" pleaded a man in a richly decorated parlour.

"Is she is strong enough to survive, then it means she overcame the plight of her birth. If not, she doesn't deserve your compassion," sentenced his older companion, before the room vanished.

The smoke cleared and Harry saw a group of men whispering in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, looking on as the previous Muggle Prime Minister emerged from the phone booth and entered in strictly magical ground for the first time. Harry had been at that ceremony as security detail and remembered seeing the group of Purebloods, but he hadn't heard what they were saying.

"I heard that the Muggles want to impose mandatory magic donations to power their machines. How low have we sunk to allow this calamity," hissed Theodore Nott Jr., whom Harry recognised from his time at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy stood next to him and shot him a warning glare, clearly angry at the condition for the peace treaty, but refusing to pronounce himself on the matter in public.

The scene changed again, this time it looked like it was in a cave, or a darkened basement. Harry couldn't distinguish much, however, as Davies was looking pointedly at the ground.

"The White Wave has been triggered. There is no going back now," proclaimed the voice of a man. Harry pushed his Magic to remain in this memory, to wait until Davies lifted his head. When that failed, he tried to search for memories triggered by the identity of the speaker, but his first try didn't work and, before he could search for more clues, Davies released a pained groan and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Harry bent down and Re-ennervated him discreetly. His prisoner blinked a few times and jolted when he heard the Colonel bark at him from his side of the barrier:

"Well, didn't you hear the question, magical swine?"

Harry had nearly forgotten about his own question, but he had seen as much as he could without arousing the Muggles' suspicions of what he did. He hauled Davies up and started to pull him to the barrier when Davies answered in a mocking tone:

"Nothing can stop the purging tide of the White Wave now. Unless you can go back in time to prevent it from being created at all, that is."

Davies shot him an arrogant smile that quickly morphed into a sneer of disgust when the Muggle soldiers seized him and began pulling him away.

Harry followed his progression until Davies was put in a vehicle and disappeared from his sight. The Muggles soldiers were dismissed, except for two, who now stood on their side of the barrier and eyed him distrustfully.

_Going back in time, hum? How simple. I'll have to ask Teddy why his beloved Time Room team hasn't thought of that solution yet_, he thought sarcastically.

A gust of icy wind bit in his exposed skin and shook him from his thoughts. Harry cast one last look at the snowy ground that had already partly covered the evidence of Davies' struggle and Disapparated back to the Ministry to write his report.

As he waited for the elevator to bring him to his office, he tried to imagine Teddy's face when he'd tell him the suggestion.

_Ha! As if time-travel would ever work like that,_ he scoffed to himself, shaking his head. The tall witch with whom he was sharing the elevator stared. Harry fought the urge to smooth down his fringe on his scar. That had become useless since the war, as now most Magicals recognised him on sight.

He repressed a sigh, put the thought of time-travel away for a later conversation with his godson and started to formulate his report in his head.

Little did he know that a few floors below, the Unspeakables had gathered to discuss the finer details of how their latest invention would be used and that his name was at the very top of a short list of potential candidates for an unprecedented journey through time.

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Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my new story! Thank you in advance for letting me know what you thought of it, and of the idea for the story in general, if you have the time or the interest. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer : I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 2: 2nd of June 2019

Harry walked out of St. Mungo's as fast as he could. He tightened his fists rhythmically to keep his attention focused on the small task and prevent himself from bursting into tears, launching an attack on whoever looked at him the wrong way or collapsing on the ground and giving up.

When his Magic rippled around him and burst the doors of the hospital open, he knew he needed a long walk to calm down before he was in any state to talk with someone else.

After the peace treaty, the Wizarding World had built a warded corridor linking St. Mungo's to Diagon Alley and the Ministry. From the outside, it was invisible to Muggles, but when you walked in it, the walls of the corridor were enchanted to show the passer-by what they wanted to see. On it, some wizards saw the wizarding news broadcast, an innovation brought by the increased contact between the two worlds and the sudden importance given to quick, reliable information.

Harry saw images of Rose and Hugo laughing as they chased each other in the field behind the Burrow two summers before. In a low voice, he cursed the charm for picking up on his wish to see Ron's children alive and happy as he struggled to keep his composure. He forced himself to look to the ground as he walked, to think of what he would tell the Unspeakables.

When they contacted him a few months before to inform him of their plan, he had discarded it as unrealistic and cowardly. He would use whatever he could to find a counter-curse in their timeline and he would succeed. He wouldn't take the easy way out and jump in a time ritual they didn't even know would work. The Unspeakables hadn't even been able to tell him whether their current reality would disappear if he changed things in the past, or whether it would continue on, with everyone he cared about slowly dying as he was fraternising with Death Eaters in the past. He had just started his Healing course at the time and was confident that, combined with his investigation, he would understand soon enough how the curse worked and how to counteract it.

Needless to say, things didn't go so smoothly and today, he still far from finding a solution to the curse. On the plus side, he had found that he quite liked Healing. It had only been a course on Battle Healing available for Aurors, but he liked to feel useful for a few moments when his colleagues were injured. He had thought that maybe, when this whole mess would be over, he could consider a career change after twenty years hunting criminals and settling quarrels between Muggles and Wizards.

Now, it wasn't clear if anyone would stick around much longer to even need Healing.

The walls of the corridor filled with the faces of those he had lost. He started to clench his fists rhythmically again. How stupid had he been, to throw away a chance to go back to the past and save them all? He had fought against bearing once again the responsibility for the fate of the world. He had naïvely thought he could solve this puzzle without needing to go back in time. But the curse grew stronger. Once released, it evolved autonomously and morphed into something more complex, more damaging as time passed. What could have been used to fight it a few months ago was now completely useless. Even Purebloods were dying at this point. Even those almighty Purebloods who had played God and had wanted to purge society.

The images changed suddenly for walls of fire, following an association his brain had made. Purebloods couldn't control the Fiendfyre they conjured, as usual. It was like Crabbe in the Room of Requirement all over again, when he thought of it. So typical and pointless. Harry didn't understand how they could have been so careless.

He turned to the left when the tunnel split in two and headed to the deserted Ministry. Only the emergency services were running at full capacity now. The rest of the Aurors and the Healers, the Unspeakables and the Magical theoreticians were all working together in unprecedented collaboration to find a solution to the crisis while the Muggle Liaison Office kept the tenuous peace in place. The Muggle government had threatened to take over the administration of the Wizarding World to deal with the crisis if they didn't settle the problem rapidly. But if they let a few months, maybe a year, pass, they wouldn't even have anything left to rule over.

Harry focused on Hermione's smiling face on the wall as he tried to get rid of his dark thoughts. He went back again on the information the Unspeakables had given him before he shot their offer down.

The curse had been created during Voldemort's first rise to power, so they wanted to go back the closest to that time as they could. They didn't know what anchoring the ritual to someone's blood would cause to the efficiency of the spell, so they wanted to send someone as powerful as they could find to make it go back as far as possible. They had no idea of whether it would work. Time-travel was their last resort. Before, when Harry was still confident that the White Wave could be contained, he had likened it to giving up, to committing suicide. He had to be ready to die to step in the ritual circle.

Harry stopped at the edge of the warded corridor, thinking his decision over for a moment. He felt like he was standing in the Forbidden Forest again, all those years ago. Was he still prepared to sacrifice his life for a chance to save the Wizarding world? He nodded resolutely and stepped out of the corridor leading to the Ministry.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the image on the wall change again. A young man leaning against a majestic column, shrouded in shadows, now appeared right behind him. Harry recognised him with a jolt and turned to look at him for a moment. As he watched, the young man grew older and his charming features became more handsome while his eyes changed from a deep blue to a striking crimson. The Voldemort Harry remembered from Dumbledore's memory in the 50s now stood next to him and Harry frowned in thought. He wondered if it wasn't suicidal of him to go back in time even if the ritual did work. After all, Harry knew that he had only managed to kill the other because of had gotten extremely lucky. Now, if the Unspeakables still wanted of him, he would be sent back to a time when Voldemort was saner and more powerful than he had ever been in Harry's struggle against him. At least, until his mission was accomplished and the curse's creation prevented, Harry wouldn't have to go against him. The timeline needed to be kept as intact as possible for him to find the culprit and, since the latter would mostly likely be in the Death Eaters' ranks, he needed to infiltrate them and pass for someone with similar convictions.

Harry scoffed and walked away from the image of his enemy. He would just have to use his 'exceptional' lying skills to somehow foil a master manipulator for an undetermined period of time.

_No problem at all,_ he thought as he rearranged his tie knot nervously. _It will go swiftly, as for everything in my life._

The doors of the Ministry opened at his approach and he couldn't help but to send a glance back to the corridor walls over his shoulder.

Tom Riddle shot him a cunning smile and his eyes glinted with shrewdness.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. The doors of the Ministry closed behind him. He sighed and headed to the Department of Mysteries.

_Of course it wouldn't be that easy._

.

o0o0o

14th of June 2019

Harry stood next to Ron in support as the line of grieving acquaintances and family came to offer him their condolences. He stayed well after everyone else but Ron were gone and they stood still, looking at the fresh graves next to Hermione's own.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?" asked Ron knowingly, his eyes glued to the headstones.

Harry sighed tiredly.

"Yeah, their date was set and they had already started to teach the facts to someone else when I changed my mind. They are having me do this new Muggle-inspired subliminal learning technique where I sleep inside a Pensive to make me cram in as much as I can before next week. I tried to tell them that I already don't sleep well and that I can't fall asleep when they are droning lists of Death Eater and Dark supporters' names and characteristics, but they think I'm just an old man who doesn't understand new technology. I bet Teddy told them about that time he tried to teach me how to use the new Mind Floo and it took him three hours just to get me to a point where I could use the most basic functions on the bloody thing," he complained good-naturedly.

Ron snorted humourlessly, but didn't turn to him.

Harry felt guilt churning in his stomach.

"You know, if you want, I could still stay here. I mean, you're still alright, and Teddy too and it's not as if I really have a chance of beating this. There's no Prophecy this time and..." he started, before Ron interrupted him.

"I thought of making them Horcruxes," he whispered, staring fixedly at his children's graves.

Harry closed his eyes in grief and released a breath.

"You know that's not a solution, Ron," he pleaded.

"The worst feeling in the world is to stare at your dying children and not be able to do anything for them. I would have given them my life, my magic, my soul if that helped them."

"You know how it affected Voldemort. You didn't really want that for your kids, come on," Harry reasoned.

"I know, Merlin! I didn't do it for a reason! Before the curse, Hugo wanted to become a Herbologist, like Neville, you know. He wanted to grow plants that could help people, he used to say. I couldn't have made him kill someone... I couldn't have tainted him like that," said Ron, shaking his head. "What I wanted to say is that I would give anything for a chance to save my kids. For being able to feel like I'm doing something. I would even have joined you in that Healing program, by the way, but my Potions and Herbology grades were worse than yours and I couldn't get in."

"Fat load of good that did me, anyway," replied Harry to reassure him.

Ron sighed again. His face was pasty-white with too much time in the hospital and too little sleep. Harry frowned in worry and shot him a Diagnostic spell to be safe. It came back clean of the curse. At least, Ron was still untouched by it.

"Yeah, I know, I haven't been 'engulfed' yet. I reckon I won't be for long, though," he commented.

Harry's gut twisted in pain.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, with you travelling to the past and Hermione and the kids... There isn't many things to keep alive for," Ron stated.

"You know, if you want, maybe I could get the Unspeakables to sent you back instead of me. I mean, you wouldn't have much time to prepare, but..." started Harry.

"But nothing. It has to be you who go back, Harry. You know more about You-Know...Voldemort...than anybody else, so you know how to make him accept you in his ranks and you're powerful enough to deal with the nutcase if you need to."

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not so sure of that. Voldemort in his first rise was a lot saner and more focused than when I fought him. And even then, I got lucky the whole time. I won because of a series of coincidences and lucky shots that all perfectly aligned so that that one time, his Killing curse would rebound on him and kill him. Luck was all it was, you know that," he pointed out.

"Still, I think that if there is anyone who can do it, it's you, Harry. If you want to think that luck is the one to thank, fine by me. But I trust you to do your damnedest and save all of us ungrateful sods that will never know all the things you've sacrificed to reach that goal. And even if that means you'll have to commit horrible crimes in the Death Eater ranks to gain their confidence and even if the other version of me doesn't like you much, well, do whatever you need to stop the White Wave from being created and know that I understand its necessity and that I am not judging you."

Harry felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach. He was eternally grateful for the support of his friends. And he was struck again at how much Ron had matured since they left Hogwarts.

Then, Ron turned his heavy gaze away from the headstones and they hugged each other tightly.

"I will do my best, Ron. I promise," said Harry when he released the hug.

"That's all I ask," he replied with a tired smile before looking back at the graves again.

Sensing that Ron needed to be alone, Harry nodded and took a few steps in the direction of the entrance.

"Oh, and Harry," called Ron.

"Yeah?" he answered, turning back to look at him.

"If you meet me there, or another version of me anyway...can you please convince me to ask Hermione out again? And possibly earlier? I wouldn't want any version of me to live without her," Ron said, a hand resting lightly on his wife's headstone.

Harry swallowed and forced a reassuring smile on his face.

"Got that. I won't forget."

His best friend of thirty years shot him a small parting smile and waved once.

Harry turned on himself and Apparated out of the cemetery.

.

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Happy New Year everyone! I'm so happy to see that so many of you liked the idea for this story! Thank you so much to those who reviewed, favorited and followed my new story! You guys are what keep me writing! :)

In case any of you are wondering, the next chapter will be the last one in 2019. As I explained to one of my reviewers, this chapter and the next are sad and maybe a bit too bleak, but the story as a whole won't just be a series of tragedies one after the other. The future just had to be pretty desperate to send someone back in time, especially since they risk changing the chain of events that led to Voldemort's downfall...

Anyway, you will see! Thank you in advance for letting me know what you thought of this chapter! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everyone! Thank you for telling me what you thought of the last chapter! Not only are you comments motivating me, they are also giving me lots of ideas for the plot development and they remind me of things I still have to clarify about the context and the characters. You are helping me make this story better!

To my guest reviewers:

Gauss: Thank you for your enthusiasm! You will see the precise date in the next chapter or so, but Harry is to be sent during the First Wizarding War (Voldemort's first rise), which spans approximately between 1975 and 1981 (there was no set date for the beginning of the war in the books). Ron thinks Harry might meet him in the past because he doesn't want to think about the possibility of Harry dying while fulfilling his mission. If Harry doesn't die then, why would he not live to see Ron grow up? On the question of Harry's name, I agree with you that a Potter in the Death Eater ranks would be a bit weird, especially since there are more Potters already living at that time. So, Harry will take a new family name, but he will keep his first name for a reason you'll see in the next chapter ;) About the Purebloods and their opinion on the peace treaty, I will allude to it in this chapter, but I really plan on dedicating much time in this story in general to explaining their vision of society and why they decided to essentially launch a civil war. While being in the past, Harry will constantly refer (in his mind) to the future to help explaining what he is living through. I do plan on talking about the Purebloods' opinion of the peace treaty, since it's partly linked with why they decided to 'unleash' the White Wave.

rainnie: Thank you! I'm glad you like it :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 3: Last-minute leads

20th of June 2019

"Double donation and no anaesthesia as usual, Auror Potter?," asked a familiar Muggle in a lab coat.

As Harry nodded and sat on the reclined chair, he wondered why they had lab coats at all. After all, it wasn't as if magic donations were messy. It was just undoubtedly painful and felt as if your very life was sucked out of you, but the Muggles couldn't feel or see any of that.

"Some of them vomit," answered the Muggle knowingly. "All sorts of liquid can erupt, really. I'd rather not have to come in contact with more of you people than I absolutely need to."

As he lied down on the special chair, Harry clenched his jaw to prevent himself from answering. That wouldn't go down well on his report. Then, he remembered that after tomorrow, he'd either be dead or fraternising with Death Eaters in the past. There wasn't much reason for him to keep the hostility down anymore, really.

"According to your file, the exemption goes to Theodore Remus Lupin. Is that right?" asked the Muggle, shaking him from his thoughts.

And there was his answer. If he acted out, he wouldn't put it pass the Muggles to not grant the exemption to Teddy. He already felt bad enough for leaving his godson in this bleak future, he wouldn't add to his guilt by skipping his last donation and forcing Teddy to go through it uselessly.

He forced himself to relax on the chair, but his muscles had tensed at his frustration and his Magic coiled and rippled around him in anticipation. Most of the people he knew felt more drained after each donation. For him, it was as if his Magic was rising to the challenge, feeling the antagonism and growing more and more agitated as time passed.

Needles pierced his skin and the horrible suction began. He had to focus on keep his Magic from destroying the machines surrounding his chair.

He wondered again how they could have negotiated so badly that they ended with such a horrible deal. In the peace treaty, they had agreed on ley lines drains and breeding of Magical creatures for power sources. When the creatures died out as their magical forests decayed, they had had to offer whatever source of energy was left to them. Human batteries. Magic drained from all sources and used as an instrument for science's advancement. Such was their place in society nowadays and the only reason why they weren't massively exterminated, according to the cynics.

"There. All done. See you in a month, Auror," droned on the Muggle who he collected the vials and left him alone as soon as he could.

Harry collapsed, boneless, on the chair. He breathed slowly to calm his racing pulse. A piercing headache caught his head in a vise and the knee he had injured in a mission a few years ago throbbed in pain. He knew the effects would dissipate soon enough. They always did. He just hated with a passion those few moments of vulnerability that inevitably followed his donations.

He was not too far gone to miss the sound of a door opening to his left, however. He turned slightly to evaluate the threat, a hand on his wand. When he recognised the new Muggle scientist, he relaxed slightly.

The small brunette reminded him of Hermione before the war. She had the same intelligent and compassionate eyes. It was her eyes that had made Harry ask her for her opinion on the White Wave a few months ago.

"Hello, Harry. Did you do a double again? You really should give yourself more time to recuperate," she admonished as she fiddled with her tablet computer distractedly.

Harry snorted.

"Making me stop my triple donations will be your only victory, Ruth. Accept it and savour it," he shot with a small smile.

Ruth placed a hand on his forehead and frowned.

"This process should really be overseen by doctors. Your type or mine. We scientists have no idea how to show proper care in those situations," she commented.

Harry shrugged, already starting to feel better.

"Healers couldn't do anything, short of infusing their own Magic into us and that would defy the whole point of it, now, wouldn't it?" he answered, pushing himself up on his chair and extending an arm toward her.

She gave him the tablet without a word and waited as he read through it.

After a moment, Harry put it down.

"You said 'strong correlation' and not 'causality," he pointed out.

Ruth frowned at him.

"That's because I don't think it's the only factor and I need to do more research before I can pronounce myself on the subject."

Harry shook his head.

"I need your conclusion now. I might not see you again."

"Why?" she asked loudly, before looking around at the empty room. "Are you going to run away?" she whispered.

"No. I can't say why, really. Call it an intuition," replied Harry vaguely.

Ruth didn't seem satisfied but dropped it, considering their location.

"Well, the only information we have on your people comes from the donations, so I focused on what we knew. As you can see from the graphs, it seems like most of those who contracted the White Wave were already magically weak, be it because they naturally didn't have much power, or because they didn't react well to the drains," she explained.

"So you think the drains worsened the epidemic?" asked Harry, uncaring of who might be listening.

Ruth seemed more preoccupied, as she threw glances around again.

"I think that's likely. But that's not the worst though. I know it will sound extreme and alarmist, but we humans don't really have a good track record for that sort of things and..."

"Just say it, Ruth," interrupted Harry.

Ruth liked his lips and drew closer. She whispered:

"What if we did it on purpose? The government, I mean? What if it's bacterial warfare?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the door opened to let another Wizard come in for his donation.

Ruth cleared his throat.

"That will be all, Auror Potter. Until next month," she said with a neutral voice, before leaving him on the chair to greet the new arrival.

Harry looked down at Ruth's data and quickly waved his wand over it. A transparent imprint of the content of the screen rose from it. He flicked his left hand to conjure paper and lowered the imprint on it when it appeared. He looked on in satisfaction as the text was printed on his paper and stuffed it in his pocket. A quick glance to his right showed that Ruth had come back with a witch who had obviously recognised him and looked at him with the same mix of admiration he pity he had received since the hex. He held back a sneer and put on a neutral mask before he wordlessly handed back the tablet to Ruth and he Apparated away.

.

o0o0o

A few hours later

After his last gruelling day of preparation, names and dates swimming in his head, Harry went back to the small cottage he had gotten after his divorce with Ginny. He was tired and he felt imbalanced because the mandatory magic donation and stressed by the prospect of the impending ritual.

He Apparated at the edge of his wards and hurried in before he could get assaulted by his more tenacious fans and bored reporters in search of juicy gossips.

He took the long walk up his yard slowly, feeling conflicted yet again about his departure. He would miss his friends, those that supported him through every mess he's had to deal with since he was eleven. He would miss his comfortable position as Senior Auror. He knew the job well and still liked the thrill of adventure it provided when there were interesting cases and difficult investigations. However, he wouldn't miss his fame. He wouldn't miss how awkward it was for him to deal with strangers who all had a specific preconception of who he was and how he should behave. He wouldn't miss having to go in the common zones for a quick shag with Muggles because everyone Magical knew of him and would gossip about his performance or preferences. He wouldn't miss the whispers, the stares, the comments, the...

"Surprise!" shouted his friends and colleagues, jumping up from behind furniture or door frames.

He twitched in surprise and barely refrained from shooting spells left and right. Working with the public meant that he couldn't afford to have deadly reflexes. He needed an even quicker response time to know how to reply appropriately and not curse innocent bystanders.

"Oh, wow, guys! What is happening?" he asked, bewildered.

Neville coughed and made his way to the front of the guests.

"Ron told us about the move. You could have said something, you know. We understand," he said solicitously.

"Ah, well, I didn't want to say anything until I was certain," he lied, turning an inquiring look in the direction of his best friend, silently asking for an explanation.

Ron smiled slightly.

"I know you said that you couldn't tell people you were granted the authorisation to move to Australia, but I thought we could make an exception," he explained, before looking around at the large gathering. "A few exceptions, that is. I hope you don't mind."

Harry was relieved Ron hadn't told them about the time-travel, as he wasn't even supposed to have told anyone about it. But he was glad for this chance to say good-bye to his friends.

He took a butterbeer, knowing that, in his state of tiredness, anything else would be asking for trouble, and started to make a round of greetings to his guests.

When he arrived in front of Ginny, he felt a familiar feeling of awkwardness settle between them.

"So, how are you doing?" he asked to break the silence.

"Not bad, and you?" she replied.

"Not bad. 'Been busy. You know, with the investigation and the move and all," he explained as vaguely as he could.

Ginny nodded slowly before she glanced around not so subtly.

"You know, Harry, I know things haven't worked out between us and I have accepted that, but I have been hearing...rumours about you and I'm getting worried."

"What type of rumours," he asked, even if he thought he knew what she would say.

"That you've been...going to places and meeting with...people of a...certain type," she said hesitantly.

He released a sigh. He had tried to avoid that sort of conversations for as long as he could, but might as well get over it now that he would never see them again.

He climbed on a chair and cleared his throat. His guests all turned to him, probably expecting a good-bye speech. They'd get a speech alright, but not the one they were waiting for.

"Listen up, everybody. First, I want to thank you for all coming to tell me good-bye. I'm really touched that you don't begrudge me for moving away. If it were just for me, I would stay with you and continue to search here for a solution to this crisis until it reached an end. Or I did," he said, making his guests shift in unease.

His face grew stern.

"There is one more thing I want to share with you though, before I leave. Some of you might have heard the rumours and I wanted to sort it out once and for all. I have recently realised that I was gay. Before any of you say anything, it has nothing to do with the hex I received. If anything, the hex made me stop and question what I was doing. I realised that women never really interested me. What I wanted above all was normalcy. All of you know to some extent that I never really had an ordinary, boring life, but I also didn't grow up in a regular, loving family. I grew up in a harsh, magic-repressive, normalcy-obsessed home and I tried all my childhood to make them proud, in vain. What I only realised recently was that I never really outgrew that desire for conformity. I tried as best as I could to blend in, and failed. In the end, I didn't want a wife and a family for the right reasons. I just wanted to prove my family, my friends, the Wizarding World, that I was as normal as a wizard can be. The hex took away my chance for a "normal" family, but I would have been determined to continue on with my life and plan for alternate solutions if it wasn't for everyone around me reminding me constantly that things had changed and if it wasn't for my divorce that told me I had failed at meeting yet another person's approval," he said and lifted a hand to stop his ex-wife from interrupting with a protest.

"And, as I have told you before, I don't begrudge you, Ginny, for wanting a divorce. I'm not an easy person to life with at the basis, and in the difficult times I went through with all the gossips, the taunts, the whispers, it got even worse," he told her, before he turned back to the rest of his guests.

"After Ginny and I got separated and the illusion of my normalcy was shattered once again, I decided to do some exploration on what I really wanted in life and found that I had ignored a big part of myself for too long. So, yeah, if you heard the rumours that I was out with some guys at some point, they were probably true and I hope you'll accept that new particularity about me, like you did with all the rest of my strange quirks. If you don't want anything to do with my abnormal self anymore, the door is that way. I'm leaving tomorrow and at this point, I don't really have the energy or the time to care anymore. There are more crucial things in life and, to me, it's more important that we honour all those that aren't with us anymore by living our life fully for as long as we can," he said, looking at each of the guests and their reaction. A few looked put off and some colleagues from work promptly left his house, but most of his older friends from Hogwarts and all the remaining Weasleys stayed, although Ginny looked even more ill at ease.

"In these times of crisis, it's important to keep close the ones we hold dear. If I could have stayed, I would have. But know that where I will be, I will still be searching for a way to prevent more of those useless deaths. In the meanwhile, I will breathe easier knowing that you are taking care of my loved ones and of yourselves as best you can while I am gone. Thank you for your love and support," Harry said, a hand over his heart and a small smile on his face.

"Oï! If you're finished now, come down from that chair, mate. You're giving me vertigo," shouted Seamus Finnigan from where he was standing, an arm thrown over Neville's shoulders. "You're not as young as you used to be, you know."

Harry huffed in mock offense.

"I'm not even forty yet, come on," he protested, but climbed down anyway.

His friends laughed and shot a few jokes about his growing age, but Harry wasn't bothered about it. Everyone were getting older and, even then, of all the wizards of his age he knew, he still looked the youngest, despite the difficult life he had lived. He was also one of the healthiest, strangely enough.

As he walked around his living room to talk to the different small pockets of guests, Harry felt acutely the absence of those who had left too early. Hermione, Dean, Dennis, Hannah, Terry, Justin and countless others were among the first hit by the curse. Harry dearly hoped he could rewrite their fate with his trip to the past. Weighted down by his dark thoughts, he didn't notice one of his friends before he nearly collided with her.

At 36, Luna Scamander was still radiant and quirky, but the light in her eyes had dimmed with the extinction of numerous species of magical creatures she loved so much. Thankfully, however, her husband and children had been safely out of Britain when the curse first spread. Harry hadn't seen her since the quarantine had been set in place around a year before.

"Luna! What are you doing here? I thought you were abroad, researching your creatures," inquired Harry, worried. He moved to give her a hug, but felt a force field repel him before he could touch her.

"Oh, I was, but I was granted special permission to come back to Britain to go pick up some tools I needed in my research," she said, gesturing vaguely around as if the tools were in the same room somewhere.

"What's with the force field?" Harry asked.

"The Ministry thinks that it will prevent me from being infected. They think pretty much everyone carries the curse virus at the moment and that it spreads through direct contact. That's their latest theory. Personally, I think it spreads in the water because it would go nicely with its name, wouldn't it?" she said, bending forward to look closely at the content of her glass.

"Oh, Merlin! Don't drink anything, then!" Harry said, hurriedly taking the glass away from her.

Luna smiled fondly at him.

"Oh, it's fine, it was wine. You see, I have this theory that the reason Purebloods don't die as easily is because they always drink wine and other alcohols whenever they can."

Harry frowned at that.

"Cushy Purebloods drink water too, don't they? I mean, if they wake up thirsty in the middle of the night, they certainly don't get a glass of wine. And they wouldn't give alcohol to their children either," he pointed out.

Luna shrugged and headed towards Ginny with an airy smile, as if they had finished their conversation.

Harry stayed in place and thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head. There was no way the curse was carried through water because everyone, including Muggles, drank the same one. Besides, he knew plenty of Purebloods who drank water and who weren't struck by the curse, so Luna's theory didn't make sense. The name was just a coincidence.

After a moment, Harry shook the thought out of his mind and returned to his party.

.

o0o0o

Far too late for someone as tired as he was, he said goodbye to his guests. He smiled in satisfaction at how it had gone. He was proud that he had managed to share his thoughts about his orientation before he went. It seemed important to him that, whatever happened, he didn't leave with useless secrets burdening his soul. As Ron had pointed out that day in the cemetery, he would have enough things to worry about to fret about his old friends' opinion of what he will do. And now, thanks to Ron, he could always think back of this night when they had accepted him without questions and know they would support him in his mission.

He was just putting everything back in order in the house when he felt a request for his Floo from Malfoy Manor. He frowned, but allowed it to pass. He didn't have the best of relationships with Draco, but the two of them had become somewhat closer after Harry had saved Draco's son Scorpius from a kidnapping. Since then, they nodded to each other in hallways and exchanged a few words at parties, but not much more, so Harry wondered what Draco wanted, tonight of all nights.

Soon enough, Draco's blond head appeared in the fireplace. He looked like he hadn't slept for quite while and Harry thought he seemed as dishevelled and panicked as when he had seen him when his son had been taken.

"Harry. Sorry to bother you, I know it's late," he started before Harry cut him off.

"I know you wouldn't call if it wasn't important. What's the problem?"

Draco scrutinised him for a moment before he asked:

"You did a class in Healing, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it was Battle Healing, so I'm really nowhere near a real Healer. Why do you ask?"

Draco passed a hand in his hair worriedly.

"Can you come through? I don't want to talk about it over the Floo," he said.

The Floos in Malfoy Manor were monitored after the war as part of Draco's probation and, as far as Harry knew, the measure had been kept in place since then 'just in case'.

"Yeah, I'm coming in a second," he replied.

A pyjama-clad, pacing Malfoy met him on the other side.

"Listen, you can't talk about this to anyone. Do you understand? I just want to be sure. It's probably nothing," he pressed immediately.

"It would help if you told me what's happening," said Harry.

"Come, I'll explain on the way," said Draco, before grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

Harry thought of protesting at the treatment, but then shrugged indifferently and followed the blond.

"It's Scorpius. When he came back for the holidays, he was feeling a bit under the weather. He said it was nothing, that it would pass, but it hasn't and now he's in so much pain and I'm worried that..." he explained before he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. He stopped walking suddenly in the corridor and looked at Harry intently.

"I can't go to St. Mungo's. They don't like us there. They'll refuse to see him, or they'll give him a false diagnosis, or they will find a way to bypass the patient's confidentiality oath, or something. Please, you have to help me," said Malfoy with beseeching eyes.

Harry frowned in worry.

"I'm not really qualified for that sort of things. I don't know how to treat normal, day-to-day illnesses. I know more about curses and..."

"Shut up, Potter. You will examine him," ordered Draco suddenly, cutting him off and pulling him forward again.

Harry protested this time.

"I'm telling you I'm really not the best for such a situation. Don't you have other contacts that are qualified Healers and that can help you?"

"You are the more qualified of my contacts. Nobody would let a Dark wizard enter in a Healing program, especially not since the wars," Draco informed him.

"But that's discrimination and St. Mungo's is always supposed to be neutral in..." started Harry.

"St. Mungo's has always followed the Ministry's lead. If the Ministry says that Dark wizards are all evil, the Healers won't see us. It has been like that for as far I can remember, and even before. Thank Salazar our Magic helps heal most of our illnesses, or it would cause more problems. As it is, family healing spells have to be passed down from mother to daughter and even then, most of it wouldn't work for more serious issues," Draco ranted uncharacteristically. "Here it is. My son is in there, Potter. Go examine him."

"No need to be so pushy, you know. I'll try to help as much as I can with my limited knowledge, but don't be disappointed if..." started Harry, before the acrid odour of sickness made him choke in shock.

He stepped in the room, taking in the prone, shuddering form on the bed. He stared at it for a moment, observing the symptoms he knew so well, and then shot a Diagnostic charm, even if he already knew what it would say. He stayed silent, pondering how he could tell Draco the bad news.

He took a deep breath and turned to his former enemy.

"Draco, I think it's the White Wave. I'm so sorry."

The blond paled impossibly and a flash of horror and grief passed in his eyes before a mask of resignation took its place.

"That's what I thought. Thank you. You can leave now. Mobby will see you out. Please remember you promised not to say anything to anyone," he droned on, staring fixedly at his dying son.

Harry stepped closer to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"If you want, I can talk to the Healer in charge of the ward in St. Mungo's. I'm sure he'll understand your grief and try his best to help your son."

Draco shook Harry's hand off his shoulders and turned furious grey eyes on him.

"What does it matter if he goes to St. Mungo's now or not? They can't help him, I can't help him, nobody can help him! He's Pureblood, it wasn't supposed to happen!" he shouted.

Harry clenched in jaw and forced himself to remain calm. He still hated when people shouted at him, it reminded him too much of his uncle Vernon, but he had grown used to it in his years as an Auror.

"Do you know how Scorpius could have caught it?" Harry asked as casually as he could, but apparently not casually enough.

Draco stopped mid-rant and turned to stare him down. Harry stood his ground, but Draco's anger faded rapidly to let space for indignation.

"How dare you ask me that question! I have already told you everything I knew about the curse, Auror Potter," he spat out. "I can't believe I trusted one of you to look at my child and you repay me by interrogating me about the White Wave as if I had withheld information that could help save Scorpius and all of us! Do you think I just realised how out of control the situation is? Astoria died a month ago because of it, for Magic's sake! Purebloods are dropping off like flies, they just hide their deaths better because they are too damn proud to let the world know that they got hit by a curse meant to only target the Mudbloods. And yes, I will say the bloody word because that's what they said about it, not because that's what I think, so will you shut up already, you damned Ministry dog and get out of my Manor!"

"Draco," protested Harry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. You were really helpful in the investigation and I know that you would tell me everything you knew if it could help your son get better. I know how much you love him and it must be terribly painful to learn that he has caught the curse. I would like to be able to say that I'll be there to help him go more peacefully, but I'm afraid I'm leaving tomorrow, so..."

"Where are you going?" Draco interrupted him.

"Australia," Harry lied, thinking of Ron's excuse.

"No you're not, you dolt," Draco contradicted before turning to detail him again. After a moment, a look of comprehension passed through his eyes.

"You were the one chosen to go back in the past, weren't you?" he asked.

Harry's eyebrows shot up on his forehead before he could stop them. He thought of denying it, but he was too curious to know Draco's opinion about it, since the other man had obviously known of the project.

"What if I am?"

Draco sighed, shook his head and gestured at him to head out of Scorpius' room.

Once back in the corridor, he spoke.

"I suppose I can understand the choice. There isn't much Half-Bloods left now. If you could be targeted by this wave, you'd already be sick, so I guess you're as clean as anyone can be. They don't want to send someone who could carry the curse with them."

"You think the curse is intelligent and only targets certain people?" asked Harry in surprise, having never heard that hypothesis.

"No, I think that the curse is designed to go attack those with the weakest Magic first and yours is stronger than most of the Purebloods'. Don't go get a big head with that admission, though. The curse works in waves that target the weakest at that moment. When the rest of the weak are dead, we are next. There's no doubt in my mind about that. That's where the creator of the curse failed monumentally. There is no way to stop the waves from crashing over us again and again until none of us are left. It's only a matter of time, now," Draco pronounced in a low voice.

Harry frowned, thinking it over. It seemed to match Ruth's data and his general impression of how the curse struck, but it didn't explain how it spread or how to counteract it.

"I don't think you mentioned that when we interrogated you," he pointed out.

"Well, there was no need to be alarmist at the time. This is just a theory of mine. You wanted facts. I gave you all the facts I knew," replied Draco, crossing his arms elegantly and lifting his nose at him.

"Do you have any other theories like that?" asked Harry, not impressed.

Draco snorted humourlessly.

"Not many, but I can tell you something else, though. For your mission in the past, that is. I am certain that my father isn't the creator of the White Wave. I would have recognised his style of curse and that's really not it. Besides, he wasn't imaginative enough to come up with something like that. And neither was he desperate nor fanatic enough for it."

Harry compared that information with the files the Unspeakables had provided him and found that it matched more or less what they said. The former Head of the Malfoy family was far from a prime suspect.

"If you could make a guess, who do you think could have done it? Whose style is it?" he asked, in case the other had interesting insight.

"Dolohov was obsessed by his arsenal of curses, but I don't know if he ever created his own ones. If he had, it would probably be instantaneous because he liked to see the people he cursed die in front of him. The Lestranges brothers, you should watch out for, particularly Rodolphus. He lost his head in Azkaban, but before that, he was some sort of a genius inventor. His brother Rabastan was too young in the first war to have anything to do with it, but maybe he took over his brother's work after they got out of prison. Mulciber. Unimaginative, but deceptively cunning fellow. Macnair was patient; he was good at setting off traps and acting indirectly. Rookwood worked as an Unspeakable, so he's certainly got the brains to create a curse, but I would think he'd be intelligent enough to not invent anything he can't control. Rosier. Died before the end of the first war, but I heard he competing with my aunt for the title of the cruellest. Nott..."

"Draco," interrupted Harry. "I'm dead on my feet and I won't remember anything you tell me now. Can you write it all down, send it to me early on tomorrow and I'll memorise it as best as I can before I leave?"

"What! You can't leave tomorrow already? What about..." started Draco, before he stopped and looked at his son's door.

"I'm sorry, Draco, but the date is set. They have already started the ritual and I need to step in tomorrow at noon. Send the list around eight when I'll get up. I have to study it enough that I can produce a Pensive memory of it," he explained, already heading back to the Floo. Draco followed him, throwing glances back at his son's bedroom over his shoulder every ten seconds.

Harry stopped in front of the Floo.

"If you want me to put in a good word for your son to the Healer in charge before I leave, I can. I know him well," he offered again.

Draco shook his head.

"I prefer he stays here. They can't do anything more there anyway. But thank you for the offer."

Harry nodded.

"Well, then, good-bye, Draco. See you tomorrow with the list?"

Draco hesitated.

"Harry, if I may. A word of advice. I know it will be difficult for you to see the Death Eaters as anything but deranged killers, but please try to keep an open mind. In the first war, they were more than that. They were a group of strong wizards and witches united to reform a corrupt Ministry and to fight against the loss of our cultures and traditions. Most of them got in willingly and they were convinced they were fighting for a just cause. It just started to get worse when the Dark Lord's sanity deteriorated during the last year or so. Then, his plans weren't as creative, as innovative, or as effective as they used to be and they lost their direction," Draco explained. "I know you don't care about blood purity, but at least, please save our culture along with our kind. I don't want to see the world in which I grew up crumble into pieces again because we weren't strong enough to negotiate with the Muggles from a position of power."

"I'll keep it in mind. Until tomorrow," Harry answered, his head buzzing with Draco's information when he only wanted to crash on his bed and sleep the next day away.

"Good luck," he heard as he stepped into the Floo.

He looked back and saw Draco's worried frown for a fraction of second before his vision was filled with emerald flames.

.

* * *

Next chapter will be in the past.

Thank you in advance for telling me what you thought of this chapter! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you again everyone for your nice comments! I'm really motivated by your enthusiasm for this story! :D

To my guest reviewers:

Gauss: I checked the timeline on Hp-lexicon and Bellatrix would have been around 30 when she tortured the Longbottoms. I suppose her husband would be around the same age, but I have made Rabastan younger than him of a few years. Being in his twenties didn't prevent Rabastan from being at the Longbottoms, but Draco thinks that the creator of a curse so dangerous was someone older, I guess. Mind you, Draco has his own opinions on who might or might not have created it, but that doesn't mean he is right in everything. About Harry's appearance, well, I will talk about it in the following chapters or so, because it will play a role in the story, but, to be honest, since Harry is about twenty years older than his father when he died, I don't think the link between them would be as obvious. As for your last question, in this story, I consider the Death Eaters as a primarily political entity and by that I mean that what unites them is a political and social ideology and not just being practitioners of Dark Magic. So Harry doesn't really have to throw Dark curses left and right to convince them that he's on their side (not immediately, at least). He just needs to convince them that they share the same goal. You will get a better idea of how he will manage it in this chapter and the next, I think. And please don't apologise for asking questions. It shows that you are interested in understand better the storyline I'm building and I find that a great compliment. :)

rainnie: Yes, I wanted to show that Harry and Draco's relationship isn't exactly smooth and amicable, but that it got better with the years. And, well, it's in Draco's interest that Harry succeeds in his mission, so it's only logical he tried to help him as best he could.

Guest: Good idea, although nothing in the books said that the Master of Death would age more slowly. And good guess about the White Wave, although that would prove the Death Eaters right to an extent if Muggleborns and Halfbloods died from the curse before the Purebloods because they were weaker magically, don't you think? ^^'

Boblove321: Yay! You found my new story! :) You might have to wait a bit before there will be an orange juice-spitting-moment, but I will try my best to provide some soon ;)

Disclaimer: I don't Harry Potter.

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Chapter 4: Hazy beginnings

Forbidden Forest, 21st of June 2019

On the ground were carved many runes in different languages Harry didn't recognise and a crooked pentagram inside of a circle. Ingredients of all kinds were scattered around the surface and a thick, brown liquid was slowly spreading over the center of the pentagram.

Harry didn't like this. The Magic of the solstice had already started to build up within the circle and his own was responding to it eagerly, snapping and crackling around him. He felt overwhelmed and out of control.

"You have to take off everything now, mister Potter. You cannot bring anything with you at all," reminded an Unspeakable to his left.

Harry dizzily took off his clothes and discarded his wand and the other magical gadgets he carried with him.

He turned to the one who had spoken.

"Please tell Teddy I love him. I left him a letter, but I would feel better if you transmitted him the message directly."

The Unspeakable exchanged a look with his colleagues before he nodded to him. He cleared his throat, but didn't look at him when he replied.

"I will tell him when I see him," he said, rubbing his palms over his robes nervously. "Please step in the ritual circle now."

Harry swallowed, looking at the liquid crawling over the surface on which he would have to lie. To him, the whole ritual looked like something they took out of an old Muggle witchcraft story, complete with the pentagram and all. Would this really bring him back in time or would it just kill him?

"Mister Potter, the sun is at its zenith, you have to take place now or the ritual will fail," urged him another Unspeakable. The next opportunity if they missed this one was one year later exactly, and they weren't sure that Harry, or any of them, would still be alive then, at the rate the White Wave was spreading.

Harry bit his lip, closed his eyes a moment and stepped in. As soon as he had gotten into the circle completely, its circumference started to glow eerily. Harry ignored it and went to lie down in the middle, as he had been instructed. It made him nervous that the Unspeakables hadn't really described to him how the ritual worked, or what were its components. He had guessed that they were protecting their secret tightly, in case he would want to start doing jumps on a whim and messing with the timeline, but it didn't really reassure him. If he trusted them not to kill him, shouldn't they trust him back with the secret of time-travelling?

The liquid in which he was lying most definitely included some blood. He had tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but the smell of iron was too obvious to ignore. He didn't voice his disgust, however, because the Unspeakables had started chanting and he didn't want to risk messing up the ritual and killing them all because he suspected he was rolling in a puddle of human blood.

Why he thought the blood had belonged to a human, Harry couldn't say, but for a sunny summer afternoon in a clearing of the Forbidden forest, this was about as ominous as it could get.

He tried to pay attention to the words the Unspeakables were saying, but the Magic escalating around him made him too dizzy to focus. The overpowering smell of blood and the swirling Magic made him nauseous and he closed his eyes to let it pass.

When he opened them again, he gasped in shock. The Unspeakables were still chanting, but it seemed like they were shrivelling up and aging at an alarming rate on the other side of the glowing barrier. Then, the Magic built up impossibly and one by one, they collapsed backwards and didn't move anymore.

Harry shouted and tried to move closer to them, but no sound came out of his throat and the blood was crawling over him, freezing him in place on the ground.

The last Unspeakable standing lifted a calming hand in his direction as he chanted. Harry stopped his fruitless struggle then and watched as the Unspeakable's features aged and withered. When he seemed incredibly old and tired, he still smiled to Harry and in his expression at that moment, Harry saw more than he thought a face could ever convey at the same time: Grief, pain and sadness, but also satisfaction and hope. He understood then that the Unspeakables had willingly sacrificed their lives to give the Magical world a chance, to give Harry a chance.

And Harry, who had been asked for a similar sacrifice before, was moved by their gesture. He told himself that he would honour their dedication by investing all that he had and was into fulfilling his mission.

When the last Unspeakable fell to the ground, Harry felt the Magic around him pause, before it suddenly rose again in a rush of power like he had never felt before.

He didn't have much time to appreciate the feeling, however, as his eyelids grew heavy and he felt himself slipping inexorably into a deep sleep from which he might never awaken.

.

o0o0o

Forbidden Forest, date unknown

Harry woke up on a bed of colourful leaves and coughed weakly. He groaned in pain and he rolled to his side just in time to vomit on the cold ground instead of all over himself.

As he dry-heaved, he acutely felt twigs and roots press on his naked body. He shivered when an icy rain started to fall and he jerked in surprise when droplets landed on his back and trailed down his spine. When his nausea had passed, he blearily lifted his head to take in his surroundings. He didn't seem to have moved at all since the ritual's activation.

As a protected territory, the Forbidden Forest hadn't changed so much through the years and Harry couldn't see anything that could clue him to a specific date. As far as he could see, apart from the change in temperature and seasons, everything was just as it was when he left the future. The only difference was that the Unspeakables had disappeared from the clearing and that the ritual circle was not traced on the ground anymore.

In their briefings, they had told him they'd try to send him as far back as the ritual they developed would allow him, but it was quite possible that he'd arrive too late to make the changes he wanted to bring. If he were honest, Harry would rather arrive too early in the timeline to have the chance to build a credible background before he'd have to even interact with the suspects. But when had Harry gotten what he wanted? For all he knew, the first Wizarding War was already over and he had lost his first point of contact and the opportunity to save his parents.

Harry sat back on his haunches and vanished the mess he made with a twist of his wrist. He repeated the gesture on himself and hissed as he felt the cleaning charm scrub him harshly. He waited a few seconds for the charm to be done, and he looked around again; this time searching for the specific clues the Unspeakables had given him. He thanked a thousand times again Hermione for forcing him to undertake a Muggle eye surgery after a particularly horrible Auror assignment that had nearly killed him. He would never have been able to spot the tree with the three aligned knots from where he was standing if he had needed his glasses.

He made his way to it carefully, taking the time to watch for potential spies or ambushes. The only sound he heard was the calm pattering of rain on the leaves and the occasional distant growl of a beast or another deeper in the forest.

He soon arrived to the tree and traced on the bark the pattern he was given, hoping that someone else hadn't discovered this hiding spot already. The Head Unspeakable had only given him the location of three different spots in Britain and this one was the most remotely located and therefore the least likely to have been pilfered.

He sighed in relief when the tree split to reveal a small compartment hidden in its bark. He hadn't been sure he could rely on the Unspeakables to provide him what he needed to survive at his arrival in the past, but what choice did he have, really? In the ritual they had designed, there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could bring with him. Hence the naked state.

In the compartment, the first thing he found was a set of generic, easily transmutable robes. Harry put them on hastily, without bothering to do any alterations. He found a belt and thought the clothes would hold up well enough thanks to it. They were a few sizes too big for him, but he had never cared enough about his appearance to learn the proper spells for cuts and clothes design. He had had more important things to take care of, obviously.

Under the clothes was a newspaper.

Harry laughed in relief at the foresight of those Unspeakable geniuses. He grew more and more impressed as time went and he discovered how well organised they were. In truth, Unspeakables had expected the possibility of time-travel for so long that, when came the time for his journey to begin, most of the work was already done for them. The only thing Harry had to do was to follow a neat little list of steps and he would get his new identity sorted in a jiffy, courtesy of the Department of Mysteries.

1st of January 1979 was the date written on the newspaper. He snorted at another sign of Unspeakable efficiency. They probably came to check on the hiding places once per year and always put a newspaper from the first day of the year, so that potential time-travellers knew that this was probably not the current date, but only the right year.

Harry frowned in thought. He hoped he wasn't wrong. What would have been the purpose of including a newspaper if they didn't update it every year?

He tried to think back of what he knew of the timeline. He had studied it before he left, but since it had been unclear when exactly he'd land, he hadn't had the chance to memorise as much about each year as he'd probably have needed.

The only useful thing he remembered of the date is that it was the year in which Regulus Black died after discovering the secret of the Horcruxes. Harry bit his lip in thought. He hoped he wasn't too late for Regulus, but he didn't know how he'd manage to save him while avoiding to antagonise Voldemort. He couldn't very well infiltrate his ranks when the first thing he did once he arrived was to go against him, right?

He sighed at the prospect of ingratiating himself to a man he hated. That was one problem the Unspeakables couldn't help him with. The last thing Harry wanted was to be forced to fight against his parents or anyone he knew in the Order, curse or not. He had had the half-assed plan to further his studies in Healing and offer his services for the Death Eaters since Draco had told him Healers rarely helped Dark wizards but, for that, he'd need more than just one measly class about Healing in battle situations and he wasn't sure his Potions skills would pass whatever test he'd need to take to be admitted in a Healing program. Not to mention that, if he was really in the fall of 1979, there wasn't much time remaining in the First War for him to find the creator of the curse. He had to hurry up and get in the ranks to begin his investigation.

Harry checked the newspaper distractedly as he thought. He didn't recognise much of anything and was quite horrified at the images of giants destroying villages and killing entire families indistinctively. He had somehow forgotten how vital a role they had played in Voldemort's first rise. In Harry's time, the Giants had essentially been condemned to extinction because Muggles refused to allow them to move out of very restricted territories which, while in theory had plenty of food to feed them, didn't allow them to keep their traditional way of life and was slowly destroying their communities.

Towards the end of the newspaper, Harry saw a notice for Alice and Frank Longbottom's wedding and paused, wondering if his own parents were already married. If he calculated from autumn 1979 and July 1980, his birth, there was only about...nine or ten months between them. Could he already be conceived?

Harry looked again at his surroundings and noticed that most leaves were already on the ground. It was late fall, then. Possibly around Halloween.

A cold feeling gripped his heart suddenly. If the Unspeakables hadn't changed the newspaper that year, it was entirely possible that he could have gone back on Halloween of 1981. It would be typical. Just typical of his luck, or rather of his lack of it. He tried to calm himself down and think of it rationally, but suddenly, he didn't feel quite at ease with wasting potentially precious minutes looking at a possibly vastly out-dated newspaper.

He searched in the hidden compartment in the tree again and found a pouch with enough Galleons to last for a while, if he was careful. He pocketed it without more thought and bent forward to look at what else was in there before he Apparated away.

He found a cheap wand, the type that would work well enough for anybody, but would never form any bound with a wizard and therefore would never be as powerful as a chosen wand. He took it without thinking and immediately felt the disagreeable sensation of a hook pulling at his belly bottom. A Portkey, of course. He shouldn't have trusted the Unspeakables to let any potential time-traveller pilfer their stack without giving them a report on why they were sent in the past. He should have known better than to grab objects without checking them first, especially in the dangerous years of Voldemort's first rise.

Harry waited impatiently as the Portkey transported him to an unknown location. He wondered what he should tell them. Should he just give them the whole timeline of the next 30 years, or play it cryptic and say that they needed to trust he was sent back for good reason?

In any case, lost in the possibilities of how he could explain his trip to the past, he was not quite prepared for the scene that welcomed him. He crouched instinctively, his Auror reflexes saving his life from a Killing curse that flew over his head. He cast a _Protego_ on himself and rolled to his left, taking cover around the corner of narrow passageway.

He cursed under his breath as he took in his surroundings. The Portkey had transported him to Diagon Alley in the middle of a battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry Aurors. It was an all-out fight and sickly green curses were generously shot by both sides equally. Harry spotted a few bound Death Eaters set apart under the close watch of some Aurors as their comrades were trying to free them. Other Death Eaters were setting some shops on fire and battling their adversaries.

Harry looked around, not too sure of what he should do. He recognised a few of the Order members, including a younger Sirius in trainee Auror robes who was carelessly slinging hexes left and right and taunting his enemies. Harry felt a pang of longing in his chest and he knew that he couldn't possibly get out of his hiding place, join the melee and attack his godfather in process. He closed his eyes for a second, already torn by what his mission asked of him. How could he have deluded himself into thinking that he'd ever be able to join the Death Eaters? He hated their methods, didn't agree with their goals and was too attached to the people on the other side to fight against them. What were the Unspeakables thinking, sending him to infiltrate them? He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't do it.

"_Crucio!_" shouted in unison three Aurors Harry didn't recognise. They hit a Death Eater, who collapsed on the ground with violent trembling.

"Die, scum!" said the one to the left as the three slashed down their wands on the prone form.

A horrible feeling of anxiety grew in Harry's stomach as he looked at the scene. Magical life had always been precious to him and he had shied away from killing as much as he could afford to in battles, but with the White Wave and the looming possibility of extinction for the Magicals, life had grown to be something to be protected at all costs, whoever it was.

He looked around, hoping to see one of the Death Eater's associates cut in to save the victim. Most of them were on the opposite side of the Alley, battling the Order with an intricate web of curses that fitted flawlessly together in a way Harry had never seen. He frowned at their formation.

Three Death Eaters were at the back completely, directing their comrades as they alternated between launching waves of offensive spells and protecting. The Aurors replied with their classic groups of three scattered around to avoid getting hit by the same spells and, although it seemed to be working well enough at the moment, it was obvious that the Dark had the offensive.

Harry shook his head to focus and continued his search. From what he could see, the fallen Death Eater had attempted a solo rescue mission for his captured comrades while the rest were diverting the attention of the Aurors when he had gotten caught by one of their triads.

When his Magic picked up a strong magical energy around the captives, he understood that the defeated Death Eater was another layer of diversion for a Disillusioned rescuer. Harry glanced back at the prone form on the ground. It was still twitching, but weakly.

Harry's leg shook in agitation and his hands clenched around his cheap wand. He couldn't let someone die in front of him, not even the worst of Death Eaters, if he had the opportunity to save them. He had seen too many people die in his life already.

His new wand wouldn't survive the strain if he used it for the spell he had in mind, so he put it away. He didn't pay any attention to the small voice in his mind which told him that his actions would mean placing himself firmly on one side or the other of the war, and he aimed his hand to the sky.

"_Fulmen_!" he whispered intently, channelling his Magic to hit behind the triad of Aurors and toward the rest of the red robes.

A bright bolt of lightning formed a column of light in the sky and hit the ground with a powerful shockwave that made four other triads of Aurors, including the one closest to him, collapse suddenly.

Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the strength of his spell. He hadn't thought it would have that much effect on the Aurors and spared a moment to check that he hadn't inadvertently killed them with the charge. Thankfully, they were only unconscious, so Harry proceeded with his plan.

He wrapped his Magic around the fallen Death Eater and Disillusioned him before he Accioed him to the passageway in which he was hidden.

Again, his spell's strength took him by surprise and the Death Eater flew well over his head and crashed behind some crates in a corner. Harry had just the time to shoot him a Cushioning spell to slow his fall.

Harry cursed himself silently. He hadn't unwillingly overpowered a spell for as long as he could remember and now it happened twice in a row. He vowed to be more careful and to use his wand from now on as he cautiously drew closer to the crates.

"Hello, my name is Harry and I'm a Healer. I know that you are injured and I want to help you. Can I come around to see you?" he asked carefully, following the protocol he learnt in his course and hoping he hadn't damaged his potential patient much more with his Summoning.

A wet cough answered him and he really didn't like the sound of it. Harry conjured a mirror on the opposite side of the passageway that would allow him to see the injured wizard behind the crates and let the other see him at the same time to be reassured that he was not a threat.

He gasped in shock when he recognised white-blond hair escaping from the Death Eater's robes and hurried on the other side of the crate rapidly. It's only after the injured wizard lifted his head, his mask lying at his side, that he realised that this wasn't Draco or his son Scorpius, but Lucius, a man he had never particularly liked and one of the few Death Eaters who wasn't a potential suspect for his mission. However, regardless of his feelings for the older Malfoy he had know, this was a young man with a whole life ahead of him and he couldn't just stand there and watch him die slowly.

For a moment, he was transported back to St. Mungo's, looking on powerlessly as Hugo breathe shallowly, his young eyes filled with so much pain as he struggled under another "wave" of draining pain. More than of the "purifying tide" the Purebloods liked to perceive the curse as, the White Wave had been dubbed such because it attacked its victims in waves of blinding white-hot pain that grew in frequency as the curse progressed.

Another weak cough brought him back to the present. Lucius Malfoy narrowed eyes full of pain when Harry withdrew his wand and his hand twitched to his own lying on the ground at his side.

Harry lifted a calming left hand, closed his right fist over his wand and placed it over his heart in the universal sign of a Battle Healer. He just hoped that the conventions he had learnt in his short course were already in place. He was soon rewarded for his effort as Malfoy gulped and gave him a small nod.

Harry shot a Diagnostic charm and started to work on the large gash the Pureblood had on his stomach. He poured more magic into stitching up the skin, but it wasn't working as well as usual because of the ineffective wand. When he tried to divide his attention by repairing a broken rib at the same time, the wand started to vibrate worryingly and to heat up. Harry cursed under his breath. The first thing he'd have to do is buy himself a proper wand. Screw the Unspeakables and their little list. A good wand was the first thing he should buy in wartime.

"It would work better if you laid down," he commented lightly, not knowing how the noble Pureblood would react to an order from a nobody in ill-fitting robes.

Malfoy, surprisingly, complied without hesitation and let himself slump on the ground. Harry frowned at his behaviour and searched for curses that could be affecting him more than his physical wounds.

Sure enough, he found a high level of Cruciatus exposure from the combined assault he had witnessed and a curse that was slowly eating Malfoy's lungs inside his chest. No wonder the Pureblood hadn't said a word. It was a testament to his will power that he even managed to stay alert that long.

Harry started working on unravelling the curse from Malfoy's lungs when his stupid wand burst in fire in his hand. He threw it away in a corner with a colourful swear word and Lucius frowned vaguely at where it landed. He looked resigned to his fate, but Harry was not one to give up so easily, in anything.

He closed his eyes and placed a hand on Lucius' torso and worked to focus his magic on casting the counter-curse and healing the Death Eaters' lungs. Healing was precision casting, so he paid special attention to controlling the flow of his Magic. As he made headway in his healing, he could feel his patient breathe more easily and a small appeared on his lips. It felt good to be useful, especially after failing to power correctly a basic spell like a Summoning charm. He continued to direct his magic to heal Lucius' wounds and had just started on the Cruciatus exposure that prevented Lucius' own magic to help his recovery when he felt a spell fly in his direction. He rolled off from his crouch at Lucius' side and pointed his hand at the attacker. His eyes connected to the face of a young Snape and he faltered, hesitating on the course of action to follow. He felt a Stupefy wash over him seconds later.

His last thought was that at least, he had lasted long enough in the past to help one person, whoever it was.

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Thank you in advance for telling me what you thought of this chapter :)


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you everyone for your amazing support! You guys are the best! :D

To my guest reviewers:

Gauss: I did not necessarily mean that Harry himself would become a politician. The Death Eaters' goals are mostly political and he will be caught in that to an extent, but I don't really see him taking over the Wizengamot with his shaky background story in the past ^^'

Kauketk: Thank you! I really love time-travel fics and I wanted to offer an original take on the concept, so I am happy to see that I managed so far ;)

Love it: Wow! Thank you for your nice comments! I'm glad you like my Healer!Harry and Nondark!Harry. I must admit to you that Harry not being Dark, creepy or psychopathic, as you said, makes it harder to build a credible relationship with the Dark Lord. But that is one of the aims of this story: to show how a "noble, good-hearted and kind, brave, and idealistic" Harry would deal with difficult decisions and moral questions and how, in the middle of all that chaos, he might get surprised by what he finds. ;) On the question of whether this is a parallel universe or not, I'm afraid even the Unspeakables in the future didn't know, so you might not get a definite answer on this in the story. Feel free to continue looking at the world for that perspective and you might or might not find a confirmation later on the story!

rainnie: I imagine Harry's ego might be a bit bruised from being taken down by Snape as well ;)

esde: It is one of my goals to make this story as non-bashing as I can. I will try my best not to make the Light side evil just because I chose to make Harry infiltrate the Dark side. ;)

Guest and Littoistenjrvi: (yes, I copy-pasted your name :P) Thank you! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 5: Puzzles

"Who cast the lightning bolt?" asked the Dark Lord in a deceptively calm voice.

The gathered Death Eaters looked at each other uncertainly, but none of them stepped forward.

"I set very specific objectives for this attack and none of them were to show how much of a strike force we really have by incapacitating a dozen of Aurors in one spell. I thought I made myself very clear about this. Each of our targets is calculated to make a maximum impact and, as annoying as Aurors might seem to you, they hold practically no political power and are therefore mostly irrelevant to our cause. Or is there anyone here who did not agree and thought it more important to prove their point by straying from the directives I gave you?" Voldemort continued in a low voice, growing angry at the lack of reactions from his servants.

"My Lord, if I may," said Yaxley, stepping forward and bowing deeply to him. The Dark Lord had to give it to Yaxley; the man was bold. He did not hesitate to speak up in gatherings, contrarily to the mass of Death Eaters who thought that he wouldn't notice them if they were looking at the ground or to the side.

Sometimes, Voldemort likened his servants to a class of anxious teenagers faced with a strict teacher. The comparison never ceased to amuse him, especially when one considered that most of them were rich and decently powerful Purebloods in their own right. But if Yaxley fitted somewhere in this portrait, he was the annoying teacher's pet who always talked too much, but rarely had the right answer.

Voldemort nodded his permission to speak regardless, hoping that the real culprit or anyone else with relevant information would feel the need to correct Yaxley's false assumptions afterwards.

"My Lord, I noticed that neither Malfoy nor Snape are here. One of them is probably responsible..." he started.

"_Crucio_," interrupted the Dark Lord, because there had to be limits to his patience sometimes and he hated to repeat himself.

Yaxley collapsed on the ground with a scream but, thankfully for him, Voldemort mercifully cut off the spell after a few seconds. He knew that torture wasn't an optimal strategy to make the rest of his Death Eaters speak up, but he still had to keep a strict discipline if he didn't want to lose his grip on his men.

"Do not make me lose my time. If you had listened to the reports, you would know that Lucius was severely injured in the battle and Snape, as his good friend, has gone to give him the appropriate Potions and will come back here do his report after Lucius' condition is stabilised," he explained, before making a dismissive wave of his wrist. "None of them is able to do a spell of this magnitude anyway."

Voldemort paused and observed his Death Eaters while they absorbed the information.

"Now, does anyone have anything to tell me that hasn't already been said?" he asked again.

One of his servants lifted a hand hesitantly, the other hand over his ear as if he was listening to something.

"Mulciber, anything to report from our friends, the Aurors?"

The Death Eater didn't say anything for a moment, still listening. After a few seconds, he dropped his hand and said:

"The Aurors think that you were there, hiding under a powerful Disillusionment spell and cast the lightning bolt because you were not satisfied with how the battle was going."

The Dark Lord sat back on his chair with an amused smile.

"So, the Ministry is clueless to my tactics as usual. I cannot say I am surprised. What of the Order?" he asked to a tall Death Eater on the right side of the room.

"My Lord, we know their meeting is scheduled for tomorrow evening, but all the trackers we have managed to place in the last few days were disabled before today's battle," explained Jugson nervously. Voldemort would not punish him for his failure, however, because he knew only too well how slippery Dumbledore's lackeys were at times.

"After this meeting, you will speak with Antonin and Thorfinn on the best solutions for long-distance monitoring. The Order members check themselves for any sort of tampering too often to take the usual measures. You will have the research room number 4 this week if you need to work on customising a spell. Report your findings to Armand Lestrange if you have interesting results, as usual," ordered the Dark Lord. Jugson, Dolohov and Rowle bowed and nodded at each other in confirmation.

The meeting continued and Voldemort decided to let the mystery of who cast the lightning bolt rest and not talk of it again that night. It niggled at the back of his mind annoyingly, but he knew he would find the person responsible sooner or later. Perhaps Severus or Lucius would have the missing clue to this puzzle.

He gave tasks to his spies in the Ministry and kept the Wizengamot members behind to discuss the new bill they were drafting about werewolf rights. When he saw that his servants were getting tired and that they had done as much as they could for the night, he dismissed them and ordered them to come back that weekend to resume their work with Lucius, who would hopefully be healed by that time.

When everyone had left, he extinguished the lights and stayed in the dark, empty throne room to think over his plans and prioritise his objectives. The darkness soothed his sensitive eyes and calmed his raging headache. He always found it easier to think after meetings, when the distractions were gone and the silence had returned in the headquarters.

He pulled on the chain around his neck and closed his hand around his Locket distractedly. He turned it in his hand and looked down at it when the gaudy piece of jewellery caught a glint of moonlight. The large metallic 'S' on its front shone as he angled it in the light and it made him think of building a training room for his Death Eaters, that would be filled with mirrors which reflected spells at their casters. It would help them work on dodging and protecting, which was the weak point of a good part of his curse-enthusiast servants.

Suddenly, a cloud obscured the moon and the room was plunged in the dark once more. He wondered if he should go through the Horcrux ritual as he planned. The enchantments on the cave were nearly done and he got his research division unknowingly helping him develop the debilitating liquid that would be the last layer of protection for his Locket. He could send his servants out on different missions and take a few days to finish the preparations and perform the ritual without anyone the wiser.

Something held him back, however. He had felt a strange sense of loss just as he sent his servants to attack Diagon Alley that day, and the mention of that lightning bolt had left him strangely agitated. It wasn't that the spell sounded that difficult to achieve or particularly original. Many spells, after all, were inspired by natural phenomenons. He had never seen, however, one that did not originate from the caster directly, but started out of thin air paces away from him and it intrigued him.

The pain of his migraine spiked abruptly and it felt as if his head was compressed in a vice. His vision swam and he had to close his eyes to avoid seeing his dinner again. As he clenched his fists tightly and waited for the wave of pain to pass, he wondered if reaching his goal of six Horcruxes would allow him to detach himself from those worldly concerns, or if it would only worsen his deteriorating physical state.

With a sigh, he stood up and headed to the Tower's infirmary. He straightened up before he entered, not wanting to let his servants see a weakness. He needed not have bothered.

Only Julius Avery was there, patrolling between the beds in his usual overpriced robes that looked out of place in this setting, and dosing his patients with heaps of Sleeping Potions in a quest to stop their moaning. The Dark Lord knew that his old classmate didn't like his appointment at the infirmary and did not particularly try to make his patients' sojourn pleasant. As long as Avery managed to keep most his men alive, however, he could not object to his methods, even when he recognised that they were less than optimal. It wasn't as if he had better options, short of assigning himself to the task. And even if he was tempted to intervene sometimes, he had learnt with the years that the key to leadership was delegating and that his time was better invested planning and research.

He walked up to the bed of one of his injured servants. Wilkes had been there for about a week, and it was getting increasingly obvious that young Snape's Potions would not suffice to allow him to miraculously walk away from his injuries.

"Not much time left for that one, I reckon," said Avery from the other side of the room as he sorted through the Potions cabinet.

"Deaths are not good for the moral of my men, Julius," he commented, silently wondering how many Sleeping Draughts the patient had been dosed with to be so immobile while his right leg was rotting off at an alarming rate.

The glass door of the Potions cabinet closed with a frustrated clang and Voldemort shot his servant a warning look. Avery might have more leeway than the others because of their long and profitable association, but it would not do for him to forget his place.

The other visibly deflated at the reminder and passed a hand in his long grey hair while he swept the room with a glance and walked up to him.

"There is only so much I can do when there has not been a Healer in the past twenty generations of Avery's," he complained in a tired voice while he leaned on the foot of an empty bed.

"I doubt there has been a talented and ambitious entrepreneur in the last twenty generations of your family either and look at all you have managed to build in so short a time," argued Voldemort, used to the argument by now. Avery had always felt dragged down by his less than stellar familial history and he had invested more than a few evenings when they were both in Hogwarts to convince the other to follow his ambition and go in the Potion Ingredients trade. The Dark Lord's investment had more than paid off, since his former dorm mate had build an impressive empire and a long list of contacts throughout the years that benefited the Cause greatly.

Avery had a small smile at that and distractedly took a piece of imaginary lint off his Italian designer robes.

"I remember what you used to say to me and Armand then: 'Be proud of your Magic, but have the ambition to strive for your full potential, regardless of your ancestry.' Those words carried me to where I am today and I can't say I ever regretted following them or you, my Lord," he added with some nostalgia, before he sighed. "I just don't think I am used to my full potential here in the infirmary. I am not like you, who only have to glance at a book to master a new discipline. I am too old and too set in my ways to take up a demanding skill like Healing. Besides, I have had some great ideas recently and I've been dying to try them out with the research division."

"We need someone here more than we need another researcher, Julius," Voldemort pointed out.

"Let me train one of the new ones to take my place," suggested Avery. "What about that Snape fellow? Potions and Healing aren't so far one another after all."

The Dark Lord shook his head.

"He is doing his Mastery in Potions and he is already a good spell creator. I do not want to spread him thin. Or worse, to give him the idea that we depend on him."

Avery barked a laugh, then.

"Oh, you're right. That fellow does think a lot of himself, doesn't he? And he's always so glowering and dour. He needs to realise that he doesn't cast the brightest _Lumos_ in this group."

Voldemort let his oldest servant speak while he analysed the injuries sustained in the battle that day. From them, he deduced that his men relied too much on their Shield charms and not enough on physically moving out of the way. Also, it seemed like Slashing hexes and fire spells were in trend for the Aurors this season. How unoriginal.

"He fancies himself a martyr, I heard. Something about a tragic love triangle with a Muggle," ranted on Avery in the background.

When his ears started buzzing and his pulse pounded in his head, he turned around sharply and Silenced his servant with a twist of his wrist.

"Avery, you are supposed to collect intelligence on my men, not gossip," he reminded the other, annoyed. "And I do not care if one of them suddenly develop the same unhealthy attraction for goats than Albeforth Dumbledore, as long as it does not interfere with their work for me and their dedication for the Cause. Until then, I do not want to hear more about love interests or peculiar fantasies from you. Is that clear?"

Avery nodded, abashed and fearful suddenly. The Dark Lord gave him an unimpressed look and reigned in his frustrated Magic slightly, to put the other more at ease. He had never been under the illusion that his servant was particularly brave, but the constant reminder that even those who knew him best would never be comfortable in his presence was more than a little annoying. That he had done his best to imprint just that conclusion in their minds when they were in Hogwarts could explain it, but sometimes, he would appreciate a little more daring after all these years.

"O-of course, my Lord," Avery stammered when the Dark Lord lifted the Silencing spell.

"That will be all for tonight, Avery," dismissed Voldemort, knowing that the other had done all he could at the moment for the injured Death Eaters and needed to sleep to able to tend to his business the next day.

Avery looked relieved when he bowed in submission and left demurely the infirmary.

Alone again, if one didn't count the near-comatose patients, Voldemort went to the Potions cabinet and examined its content. He noted with satisfaction how well stocked it was before he took a minty green Potion from its shelves and downed it rapidly. His headache immediately calmed down to a simple tension in his temples that he massaged away distractedly as he looked at the neatly labelled stock.

He wouldn't have told Avery, or anyone else for that matter, but he felt a certain connection to Snape. Sometimes, he wondered if his life would have been similar to the young man's, had his mother never stopped feeding his father Love Potions. Would he have also grown up under the shadow of an abusive Muggle father? Would he have still achieve so much under such circumstances? Perhaps this connection was the reason of his leniency over Snape's unrequited love. Well... leniency was a strong word for his tolerance, since he would not hesitate to punish or kill the young man if he disobeyed him or became a traitor to the Cause.

Voldemort cleaned the Potion vial with barely a twitch of his finger and placed it with the other empty ones. He left the Infirmary and went to his study to plan the charms and runes he would use in the new training room. He had barely sat down that he felt Snape's Dark Mark seeking permission to enter the Tower. He allowed it and sent directions to his study so that Snape would know how to find him.

A moment later, the young man who looked like he hadn't slept, let alone showered, in a week appeared in the door frame with a low bow and a nervous countenance.

"Welcome, Severus," said the Dark Lord in a neutral tone.

The young man did not straighten from his bow and spoke to the floor in rushed words that tumbled out of his mouth uncontrollably.

"My Lord, I deeply apologise for my absence at the meeting tonight. Lucius was badly injured and..."

"I had deduced as much from the others' reports," interrupted Voldemort with a slight coldness in his tone that made Snape's face snap up to look at him at last.

"Yes, there were attenuating circumstances. However, see to it that you do not miss our gatherings in the future, or I might not be so understanding. Do you understand, young Severus?"

His servant hurriedly composed his face in a neutral mask as he nodded and bowed again, but not before Voldemort saw both relief and worry in his expression.

"How is our friend Lucius, then? On his way to a swift recovery, I hope," he inquired lightly.

"My Lord, he has been completely healed, but not by my hand. A strange man pulled him out of the battle and healed him wandlessly, or so Lucius says. Neither of us recognised him and I'm afraid that I Stunned him before he had time to explain his motivations. We were not sure what to do, so we brought him back to Malfoy Manor and are waiting for your instructions on what to do with him," explained Snape.

The Dark Lord sat back on his chair, thinking of how best to proceed.

"Show me your memory," he ordered.

Snape went deathly still.

"My Lord, due to my precipitous actions, I'm afraid I haven't seen much of the man before he was Stunned and Lucius' memory would give far better..."

"_Crucio_," cast Voldemort. He stood up for his chair and walked up to the man who was twisting and convulsing uncontrollably on the ground. He lifted the spell after a few seconds.

"I am disappointed in you, Severus," said the Dark Lord in a concerned voice. "You know better than to contest my orders. Just because I will also ask Lucius for his memory does not mean that I would not like to see your...unique perspective on the event."

Snape shakily got to his knees and kissed the hem of his Master's robes.

"Of course, my Lord. Please forgive me. It won't happen again," he choked out before obediently looking in Voldemort's red eyes.

"See to it that it doesn't," he said sharply before diving in his servant's mind.

A few seconds passed and felt like an eternity to Snape, before the Dark Lord leaned back and went to sit at his desk again. His extraordinary mind worked at full speed, analysing every detail of what he saw, before it reached a conclusion.

"I want you to transmit these instructions to Lucius: Keep this 'Harry' at Malfoy Manor for as long as possible without making him feel like a prisoner. Do not reveal him anything incriminating about your allegiance or this organisation, but interrogate him subtly on his background, his views of the current conflict and his motivations for healing you. Permission to share the general goals and positions of the Dark sect and this movement in particular, but do not disclose the names of members, the location of the headquarters or any tactical information. Permission to court to our side if you deem it appropriate. Report to me as soon as possible," he ordered, looking firmly in Snape's black eyes. "Dismissed," he added once the other had nodded in confirmation.

The Dark Lord smiled in amusement as Snape exited the room a bit too fast to achieve the confident billowing of robes he was aiming for. _They grow up so fast,_ he thought with mock nostalgia before he snorted and looked back at the sketches of the new training room he had made.

Well, the mystery of the lightning bolt was all but solved, but it revealed another deeper, more interesting enigma underneath.

He always did love a puzzle.

.

o0o0o

Malfoy Manor

There were mornings when you woke up progressively, as if you had to sluggishly climb through layers of sleep to reach wakefulness.

The morning after a Stunner was always abrupt and entirely unpleasant. If no one cancelled the spell, your Magic would work on eroding it until it broke and you'd suddenly wake up, tired and drained after hours of efforts and no rest.

From Harry's experience, the only way for the awakening to be even more unpleasant was to be Stunned in a battle. Then, you would wake up often hours after the battle was over and your body would have to cope with the rapid transition between being frozen to being completely alert and pumped with adrenaline in a matter of seconds.

Which was why, instead of appreciating the plush and comfortable bed in which he was lying, Harry shot up to his feet abruptly, his hand extended in front of him and his Magic snapping around him, ready to be channelled against his enemies.

Instead of a dirty passageway, however, his bewildered eyes were met with a tastefully decorated bedroom. There were no signs of Lucius or of Snape either.

Harry jumped off the bed and went to the window. He spotted albino peacocks strutting on the grass and immediately knew where he was. Only Malfoys had such outlandish tastes, after all. He relaxed marginally, then, understanding how he came to be there.

Evidently, Lucius Malfoy had insisted on bringing him to his Manor after he was Stunned and might want to compensate for Harry's help by buying him various things as presents. Draco Malfoy had already done the same to Harry, when he had rescued his son Scorpius from a kidnapping. It had made for an awkward conversation, since Harry had more than enough funds at the time and wasn't interested in anything Draco had wanted to buy him. In the end, they had compromised and Draco had taught him what he knew of Potter traditions and customs, with some financial and fashion advises thrown in here and there. At the beginning, Harry had to bite down the urge to scream, insult Draco, laugh hysterically or shift in discomfort, but towards the end, their previous animosity had calmed down considerably and they could talk like responsible adults. Small miracles.

Harry now wondered how this younger Lucius would deal with his perceived debt and what he would offer him. This time, since he had barely anything to his name (and no name yet, at that, since he hadn't followed the list from the Unspeakables), he thought he could tame his pride and accept money, if it was offered. He might have misread the situation completely, after all.

He turned away from the window, taking in the room again as he thought of how he would approach his current situation. He looked down and realised that he was wearing only pyjama pants. Soft, well-fitting, black pyjama pants.

With a frown and a twitch of unease, Harry wondered if someone had taken off his robes to transfigure it on him, or if they did it directly. He didn't have anything to hide (after all, everything that had been lost was regrown quite nicely after the hex), but it had taken him time to grow comfortable with his nudity again after the accident, in part because he had the uncanny impression that anyone, Muggle or Magical, who saw him knew he was now sterile. He had had to redefine his masculinity and his sexuality after the accident and it had not always been easy, but Harry liked to think that he manage to turn a disaster into something not completely negative.

Now, he wondered how he would play the part of a proud Dark supporter to Lucius and drop enough subtle hints to have him introduced to some of his "friends". If Harry were lucky, he would not have to go through the whole scheme he had elaborated with the Unspeakables and could short cut his way through the recruiting process.

Harry frowned as he went to take a shower in the adjacent bathroom. He had not been able to take a shower since his exhausting travel through time and his little mud bath in the Forbidden forest and he did not want to stink if he needed to convince Lucius that he was good company.

The question was, however, what exactly he wanted to convince Lucius of. After all, if his abrupt arrival in Diagon Alley and the subsequent small life crisis had taught him anything, it was that he absolutely did not want to fight the Order or have to kill anyone. And that left him with very little relevance in the Death Eaters.

If he was honest with himself, he was not sure he would be able to be a Death Eater at all. He had never been good with respecting authority figures and didn't think he could play the part of the subservient minion without periodically bursting a few windows with repressed frustrated magic.

Where did that leave him, though? Maybe he could play the part of an inventor. He did know a few spells that had yet to be created, after all, and that would place him in a good position to enquire about the White Wave.

The only problem was that he really wasn't that good, or that interested in magical theory. He had never created a single spell in his life and didn't think he had the type of imagination it required to do it either.

Harry hit his head repeatedly on the wall of the shower. Why had he even accepted this mission? Why had the Unspeakable trusted him with it at all? He was obviously not the right person to carry it to an end. Now, the fate of Wizardking laid on his incompetent shoulders, yet again.

He let his forehead rest on the cool tiles as he closed his eyes for a moment. He had thought he was over his self-deprecating pessimistic insecurities. Obviously, it had clung to his skin like a leech and survived the time jump. He took a deep breath and resolved to be more positive from now on. He was in the past, he wasn't famous, he had another chance at life, a chance to be whoever he wanted to be without having a heap of expectations placed on his shoulders, a chance to like whoever he wanted to like without anyone in the Wizarding World thinking they had the right to give him their opinion on it, and a chance to save countless lives. He just had to stand straight up, smile, and trust in the god of the Potter luck.

So, with this new conviction in mind and a small smile tugging at his lips, he stepped out of the shower confidently, ready to take on the world.

"Eep!" screamed a surprised House-Elf.

"Gah!" answered in a shout an equally startled Harry.

It took a minute to calm the poor creature and Harry's fluttering heart. It soon became obvious that Lucius had sent him new sets of robes to wear for the day. His repayment had already started, then. Harry chose to take it as a sign that his positive mindset was already bearing fruits.

He went back to the bedroom and spotted on the bedside table the small money pouch the Unspeakables had left for potential time-travellers. He pocketed it in relief and straightened his new robes before he headed out of the room.

The House-Elf he had nearly killed in fright earlier was there, waiting for him. He followed it down lavishly decorated hallways until he reached a small dining room in which were seated the painfully young Malfoy couple. They got up at his entrance.

Lucius walked up to him and Harry observed how he moved, hoping to see if there was any residual pain. If there was, he was covering it up well.

"Ah, what did I tell you, Narcissa dear. This is a true Healer to the core! His first thought was about my health and not about my gold," boasted Lucius happily. In truth, Harry found it disconcerting to see him so carefree.

The Pureblood seemed to realise this and had an apologetic smile.

"I hope you will forgive my exuberance, Healer, but I feel like a new man today thanks to you. You never appreciate life as much as when you get close to losing it, as they say," he remarked.

Harry nodded, but personally thought he had lived through too many close calls to get too much of a thrill out of it anymore.

"I am happy to see you doing so well this morning. I'm afraid that yesterday, I was not in the best of conditions to heal when I saw you. That poor secondary wand was really not up to the task," he remarked, getting an idea suddenly to explain his lack of proper outfit.

"Secondary wand?" asked Narcissa as she got closer. Harry's eyes drifted to her stomach for a moment, wondering if she was already pregnant with Draco. That would help him confirm the year, if that was the case. The thought scattered when Narcissa put a gentle hand on her stomach and Harry lifted his glance up to meet hers.

"You are indeed a true Healer if you knew so early just from a glance that I was pregnant, mister..." commented Narcissa, before trailing off in askance.

Harry did not contradict her assumption. He would milk his foreknowledge as much as he was able to if it could help him. Sadly, most of his knowledge about the end of the First Wizarding War was about...

"Gaunt," he answered, blurting out the first name he thought of under the pressure of the moment and cursing himself immediately after, thinking of the possible profiles he had built in advance with the Unspeakables. He would rather not have had to use that one, but he couldn't help his momentary slip. At least, he hadn't said Potter.

Both Narcissa and Lucius looked surprised and apprehensive before they regained their polite masks.

"Harry Gaunt, then? I must confess that after so many generations of isolation, I did not expect to ever meet one," he said, extending a hand to shake.

Harry shook the hand and tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"I can't say I am surprised by your reaction. I do not come from the most auspicious background, to say the least. I did not grow up with the Gaunts, if that can reassure you," he said.

And surprisingly, it did, as his host both visibly relaxed at that comment. He wondered how much the Pureblood community had known of the derelict condition of the estate and family.

"But enough about me. Congratulations are in order, Madam," he said with what he hoped was a charming smile.

"Please call me Narcissa, mister Gaunt. You did save my husband's life yesterday," she offered in answer.

"And call me Lucius," cut in his host.

"Lucius, Narcissa," repeated Harry with a nod at both. In truth, he had always found polite Pureblood protocol quite boring, but he bravely soldiered through a difficult breakfast of small talks and barely veiled attempts at digging in his past and was soon rewarded for his patience.

"Mister Gaunt," said Lucius suddenly after his second muffin. "I simply must ask. Earlier, you said that you were using a secondary wand yesterday. Have you lost your primary?"

Thankfully, Harry had gotten a good idea earlier and could now lie effortlessly as he explained it.

"I was caught in a trap. Thieves ambushed me and stole everything I had. Thankfully, I had some money hidden away for emergencies. I was going to Diagon Alley to find a replacement wand when I was caught in the battle."

"A trap, you say? What did they do?" inquired Narcissa, with polite shock.

"They brought me one of their injured associates and Stunned me when I tried to heal him. When I woke up, they had taken everything I had. I headed back to my flat just in time to see it burn down to ashes. I will have to look for accommodation elsewhere from today on, I'm afraid," Harry explained succinctly.

Lucius frowned at him slightly, deep in thought.

"You don't seem too saddened by your loss," he commented.

Harry had to force himself not to stiffen. He had never been the best of actors and, with someone used to masks and games, he had to keep as close to the truth as possible.

"I am not a materialistic person. It's too bad, and it will certainly be troublesome for a while, but I'm glad no one were hurt and that's the most important thing, really," he said sincerely. It also helped that he hadn't really lost anything.

He saw Lucius' eyebrows climb on his forehead, as if he was reluctantly impressed.

Narcissa chuckled good-naturedly.

"Oh dear, Healers are almost like another species, aren't they?" she commented lightly.

Then, Harry felt a twinge of unease at lying to them, so he corrected her:

"Actually, I'm not a full Healer yet. I only have a class in Battle Healing. I would like to become a Healer, but I have never really been good at Potions, so I'm not sure I would get in the program..." he explained, embarrassed.

Lucius suddenly sat up straighter and looked at him in renewed interest.

"So, you are not affiliated with St. Mungo's, then?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Maybe someday," he said, before he had another idea to help his mission. "I'm not sure though, because St. Mungo's is really set in its views, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Lucius inquired carefully.

"Well, I'm not sure they'd welcome the type of research I want to do, I mean..." he trailed off, feigning uncertainty.

"Do go on, mister Gaunt," urged him Narcissa with a polite smile.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather interested in studying how certain curses can help in Healing. After all, if you think about it, a lot of them actually come from that discipline. For instance, the Skinning curse was created to help in localised interventions and it's only when over-powered and applied to a wider range that it is really harmful. And that's without talking about the Unforgivables," he said, as if his point about them was obvious.

"What about them?" Lucius asked, frowning.

"They are obviously Healing spells! The Imperius is used to make patients in coma swallow their medicine, or to keep their heart beating. The Cruciatus is useful to make dead nerves flare back to life and to defibrillate in case of a heart attack," he said, ticking off two of them.

"And the third," pressed Lucius, now bending slightly forward and observing him intently.

"The Killing curse is used for mercy killing. Your patient is in terrible pain and you want to cut short his sufferings, but you want him to feel as little as possible when he expires. The Killing curse is painless and so swift your patient would barely even see it coming," Harry explained, particularly proud of the little theory he had elaborated a few years before. The Healers he had talked to during his Battle Healing course had politely listened to it then, before telling him that no respected Healer would disgrace himself by doing research on the subject to confirm it. Harry hadn't pushed the issue with them, but he had always wondered if his haunch was right. He had tried to go back at the origin of the Unforgivables, but he stopped his research after more or less confirming that a lot of Healers shared his view, but did not dare to come out and publish their results for fear of being expelled from St. Mungo's.

Lucius did not look convinced, however.

"You do know that they are Unforgivables because of what they do to their caster, more than because of their effects on their victims?" he asked, shocking Harry, who hadn't known. He wondered if that was an example of knowledge lost with the Dark's defeat in his time.

Harry had to think over his answer and consider the few times he had unwittingly cast them in his youth.

"When used out of anger, of spite, of cruelty and other such feelings, they can scar the soul of the caster just as much as they can hurt the one affected by them. However, I believe that when it is used with noble purpose, with the intent to help someone, then it doesn't any negative effect on the soul of the caster," was the interpretation he came up with to explain why he hadn't felt any different after using them.

Lucius sat back on his chair, looking at him pensively. Harry stared back with a neutral face. He was somewhat unsure of how noble his intentions had been when he cast them. Perhaps he had been affected by the casting, but just hadn't realised? Perhaps he hadn't cast them often enough to have any effect on him?

"Well, Lucius, didn't you want to tell something to our guest," interrupted Narcissa.

Lucius turned in her direction and lifted a blond eyebrow, to which she replied with a small nod. It was fascinating to see them communicate silently.

"My lovely wife is right, mister Gaunt. I am not one to keep debts hanging about without repaying them and you helped me considerably when you healed me yesterday."

"I only did my job. It would be unfair of Healers to make their patients indebted to them," Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps, but still. Allow me to repay the favour as best as I can. Considering the unfortunate circumstances that led you to Diagon Alley yesterday, I was thinking of some material help. You will need a new wand as soon as possible, and better clothes than the rags you were wearing when we met. And, since you are also without a place to stay, you are welcomed to stay in my Manor for as long as you want," offered Lucius generously.

Harry shifted in his seat in unease.

"That's too much, Lucius. I can't possibly accept all of that for just healing you once," he protested.

Lucius had a triumphant grin at that, before he controlled his facial expression.

"Well, then, maybe we will need your services again and having you here with us would help tremendously," he answered.

"I'm not sure I want to take a side in this war and I have the impression that if I stay here, I won't only be healing you, but also some of your...like-minded associates," Harry said carefully. He thought it would seem less suspicious if he had to be courted to join them instead of just showing up ready and eager to kiss Voldemort's boots. He was also genuinely unsure of how to position himself in the war, so the less he had to lie about his allegiances, the more believable he would sound.

Lucius got up swiftly and glided up to him confidently. Harry couldn't help but to check him out as discreetly as he could, admiring Lucius' strong legs and cursing himself for even noticing the other man the minute he turned on the charm.

"Mister Gaunt...or may I call you Harry? You never said," he asked with a small satisfied smile. He went to lean on the table next to him as if it was completely natural to be standing so close to him.

"Of course," Harry replied, noticing for the first time how weird it felt that he was now older than Lucius Malfoy.

"Harry, then. Considering that you healed me knowing fully to which side I belonged, as you put it, why would you refuse to do as much for others in the same situation as I was?" he reasoned.

Harry sighed silently. He knew it would come down to that decision he made the day before.

"I couldn't let someone injured die when I was able to help him," answered Harry truthfully.

Lucius smiled again.

"There you have it, then. Patients will just appear by you if you stay here and your help to heal them will pay largely for whatever debts are incurred for your presence in my Manor. No need to make a stand. You would just happen to be there at the right time."

Harry thought about it for a moment. It was too good to be true. He would get to meet the Death Eaters and talk to them as he healed them and he wouldn't even have to deal with Voldemort at all or to become one of his minions. And then, as he got to know them, he would learn more about his suspects and get them to talk of research under the guise of furthering his own.

"I told you I'm just a Battle Healer, though. I'm not sure I would even be able to heal them correctly. And if it becomes known that I stay at your place, I'm not sure I would be able to get in St. Mungo's to continue my formation," he pointed out.

"Battle Healing is essentially what you would need. I wouldn't ask you to become Narcissa' mediwizard, for instance. As for your formation, you said you would need to work on your Potions skills before you could even get in the Healer program and I just happen to have a good friend who is an absolute genius in Potions. I would have to ask him, but he could probably come and teach you some of his tricks," Lucius suggested, essentially waving away any concerns he could bring up.

Harry, however, wasn't sure he wanted to put Snape in charge of his Potions learning again. If his younger self were anything like the teacher he had been later on, Harry wouldn't get much better at Potions than he had become at Hogwarts.

He reluctantly nodded, knowing he couldn't get a better position to investigate the Death Eaters, short of becoming one himself.

"Good. Then that's settled. I will talk to Severus and let you know if he is available. I will also pass the word around to some of my closer acquaintances. You should expect to become quite busy quickly enough once the word is out, so if you need to sort anything out with family and friends, now would be the time," advised Lucius.

"Wait, what? Why would those people all trust I could do a good job when I'm not qualified and they haven't even met me? And, for that matter, why would you?" asked Harry.

Narcissa had a polite laugh at that, surprising Harry who had all but forgotten her presence in the room.

"Mister Gaunt, if you managed to heal my husband so well wandlessly, you must be incredibly talented," she praised.

Harry felt himself redden slightly.

"No, I assure you I'm not. I just compensate my lack of talent by pouring in ridiculous amounts of magical power," he confessed. His Magic spiked and churned just in cue, as if to remind him that he shouldn't joke about how out of control it had become.

The two Malfoys exchanged a look at his admission.

"Well, you will do perfectly," decided Lucius as he stood back up. "And now, I think the first thing to care of this morning is your wand. Did you get your previous wand at Ollivander's?"

Harry hesitated, but decided that if they were going together to buy one, it would be weird if he said yes and Ollivander didn't recognise him.

"No, from Gregorovitch," he said, because it was the only other wand maker he knew of.

Lucius had a small sneer at that and Harry suddenly felt more at ease with him. So, the Lucius he knew was still in there somewhere.

"Well, I'm afraid cross-borders travel is not practical at the moment, so we will go to Diagon Alley again, if that's alright with you?" he asked, already moving towards the chimney after giving a small kiss on his wife's cheek.

Harry, by now quite used to Malfoys' imperious way of ordering people around, followed his lead with an amused smile.

Malfoys would always be Malfoys, whatever the time, and that reassured him about his new life in the past.

.

* * *

Thank you in advance for telling me what you thought of this chapter! :)

In the next, Harry will meet some Order members...


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